


Sun and Steel

by MephistAgain



Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Aliens vs. Predator (Video Game 2010)
Genre: A Yautja with a Sense of Humour, F/M, Male Yautja/Female Human - Freeform, Mysterious Origins, Slow Romance, Spunky Human Female, Ties into Movie, action sequences, grit - Freeform, intimate scenes, trigger warning: mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 66,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MephistAgain/pseuds/MephistAgain
Summary: Year: 2098. Earth is a Xenomorph infested nuclear wasteland. Humanity exists in a collection of colonies populating 3 space habitats. Armed with prototype technology, the United Alliance Armada is finally capable of detecting cloaked Yautja vessels. It launches a vicious assault against the race responsible for consigning the homeworld to ruin. But who are the true monsters?
Relationships: Yautja (Predator)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**This story, I will not deny, is very much me dabbling in a franchise I have little knowledge of. I do apologize for any inconsistencies, errors, or questionable content. I have researched a few internet sources and watched clips from most of the Predator and Alien vs Predator movies. I have not read the comics nor the novels. In particular, the interactions between Scar and Lex in AvP were of interest to me. The plot of this story is not yet fixed and will evolve as I continue to write it. I'm still fleshing out the background and characters.**

**Updates will be sporadic, advanced apologies.**

* * *

It was a fucking massacre.

" _Bravo-4, level 3 all clear. Proceeding to level 4."_

" _Good copy, Bravo-4."_

Grateful for her armor's integrated filtration system, Pheist panned across the expansive interior room. Nestled within the core of the ship for maximum safety, it hadn't done the occupants much good. Their vibrant, luminescent lifeblood smeared the perimeter and had gathered in pools beneath their corpses – some large, and some very small indeed.

" _Command, we have contact outside the bridge. Standby for sit-rep."_

" _Standing by."_

Closing the comm channel linked to her helmet to silence the ongoing chatter, Pheist focused on the scene before her. All around her, her comrades from the second wave of the boarding party strode amongst the dead Yautja, checking for any those who had preceded them had missed. Plasma blasts punctuated the blaring of the ship's security system when they found those unfortunate souls.

"Pups…"

"What's that?"

Head snapping towards the soldier addressing her, Pheist belatedly realized she'd said the word aloud. "I said they were just pups. Females and younglings. No Hunters." She glanced back to the carnage. "This must be some kind of nursery."

Wrenching his helmet off, Jones took a moment before hocking a glob of spit at her boots in obvious contempt. "Yeah? Tell that to Voit and Gottard and the eight other guys they tore to shreds."

"I thought this was supposed to be a cloaked hunting cruiser."

"You're not here to think, you're here to follow orders. Do your fucking job." He cocked his head. "Or d'you want another strike on your record? How many would that make it? You won't dodge the bullet on insubordination charges next time, Pheist."

"Didn't dodge anything, I was cleared."

Lifting his rifle, Jones flipped the laser sight on and centered the beam into her HUD, forcing Pheist to shift her head away as the visor auto-tinted to compensate. "Give me one good reason."

Thanks to the inhuman reaction time of the cybernetic arm which had replaced the very human one which had been mangled several years back, Pheist was able to pluck the weapon from his grasp almost as soon as the threat had left his mouth. She turned her head back towards him, watching the hideous purpling of his complexion as his shock melted away into rage.

Helmets were turning in their direction by this point as others took note of the exchange. Pheist only had a moment to speculate about how this was going to reflect on her before she was violently launched to the floor, Jones' rifle clattering out of her hand. A shudder coursed through the ship as she shoved herself back up onto all fours, twisting to discern what had happened. Her counterparts were rushing the doors which had already been breached when they'd entered and she scrambled up, expecting a retaliatory strike from the aliens. As she moved to follow a snarl caused her step to falter and she swung back around sharply, her own rifle up. The alarm continued to wail. Nothing was moving. But she'd heard it, no question. Toggling through the views on her HUD, she settled on electromagnetic radiation and waded forward into the mass of slaughtered Yautja. Beneath the body of one still female writhed a small skeleton.

"Son of a bitch…" Pheist hissed as she stepped over and around the deceased. She switched back to night vision mode as she knelt and levered the large female up enough to tug the wriggling pup out from underneath. Furious, the young Yautja spread its as yet unimpressive mandibles and growled at her. "I don't blame you, runt. I don't blame you." Eying up the thrashing bundle, she sighed. What now? No sooner had she gathered the little one up did the floor jerk beneath her again as another tremor wracked the alien vessel. "Fuck me."

The corridor leading back to their breach point was empty, which was just as well as juggling a squirming alien offspring and her rifle was proving challenging. Pheist followed the route she and the boarding party had on the way in, knowing at least the doorways which opened off of this hall had been cleared. She couldn't speak for the rest of the ship. It had sounded as though there were some difficulties being encountered in taking the bridge.

Comms.

Exasperated with herself, Pheist switched the channel open and was immediately bombarded with several voices barking orders at once. She kept going, vigilant as she attempted to decipher what was happening.

" _Request for support teams-"_

" _Negative, fall back immediately."_

" _We're taking heavy fire, retreat not advisable at this tim-"_

" _-sustaining critical damage. I repeat, we have been engaged by second alien ship. Your orders are to fall back immediately. We are-"_

A second alien ship? Where the hell had that come from?

Weapons fire lit the corridor ahead and she automatically tuned out the continued comm chatter. Ducking into what appeared to be a storage unit, Pheist divested herself of the still snarling pup, tucking him or her into a corner behind some shelving. "Hang tight, runt." She stalked back out into the hall, rifle up as she made her way towards the bend beyond which she could hear the sounds of battle.

Someone shouted a warning and Pheist pressed her back to the wall as another, albeit much smaller, explosion shook the floor paneling. Smoke billowed out from around the corner and she had just eased away from the wall to continue her approach when three armored figures bolted into sight.

"Pheist!" Jones nearly mowed her down as he and the other two pounded past. "My six! Now!"

As much as it vexed her, years of service had ingrained the chain of command into Pheist, and she spun away to carry up the rear. "How many of them?" she called ahead, assuming they were outnumbered. She wasn't sure what had happened to the rest of their boarding party either and experienced a surge of doubt over having not followed them earlier.

A ferocious roar momentarily drowned out even the blaring security system, and if Jones or either of the others answered, she definitely hadn't heard them over the deafening noise. To her dismay, Jones veered into the storage unit, and by the time she reached the doorway all three were crammed inside.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her alarm at the risk of them finding the pup lending her voice a harshness she knew would not go over well.

"Where the fuck were you?" Jones rounded promptly, emphasizing his inability to learn from his mistakes in a timely fashion by shoving his rifle crosswise into her chest. "Hiding?"

Seeing as her breastplate had rendered the strike harmless, Pheist chose to ignore it, though she did shuffle sideways under the guise of being unbalanced in order to put herself between the others and the pup. "We need to fall back to the _Gemini_. It's under attack – there's a second Yautja ship out there."

"No shit – our shuttles are space frag, rest of the team's tango-uniform," one of the others supplied. Pheist didn't recognize him, but she immediately liked him more than Jones owing to the simple fact he was not Jones.

"Bravo's taking fire on the bridge, maybe we link up-," the third guy began, only to be cut short when a blade sprouted through the front of his visor.

Pheist jerked her rifle up and hit the trigger at the same moment as Jones, however their bolts streaked into the flaccid body of their dead comrade as the cloaked Yautja who had impaled him heaved him into them with a fierce growl. Jones cursed as he was knocked backwards while Pheist twisted enough to the side that only her shoulder was clipped.

By this time not-Jones had recovered from his stupor enough to fire on the alien, who was now unprotected by his human shield and bellowed in pain. Pheist saw his green phosphorescent blood splatter the hall and a moment later his active camouflage failed, only to reveal the arc of the extended combi-stick he was wielding as it swept in, slicing through not-Jones' gauntlet and severing both his rifle and the hand on the trigger. His scream rattled Pheist's eardrums nearly as badly as the Yautja had as he collapsed, clutching the spurting stump to his chest, but it also gave her an opening into which to launch another plasma bolt directly into the enemy's vulnerable abdomen.

The Hunter stumbled back and Pheist pressed forward, firing again, this time a prolonged blast which brought him to his knees as his entrails spilled forth. He continued to rumble menacingly even as he pitched to the floor, the spear rolling from his grip. Pheist checked the corridor for others, toggling hastily through all views on her HUD, but found it empty. She looked down to the Yautja still snarling at her feet as his blood leaked over the floor panels and bent down, mindful of his as yet dangerous talons. Drawing her standard issue bowie, she reached out to grip the underside of his bio-mask and rammed the blade hilt-deep beneath his mandibles, severing his spinal column. The tension left his muscles immediately. It was a far less prolonged death than the gut wound would have provided him.

Inside the storage unit not-Jones abruptly stopped shrieking and Pheist turned as she was wiping her knife on her boot, fearing another cloaked Yautja had gotten the drop on them while she'd been distracted. But it was Jones who stepped away from the injured man, readjusting his rifle as though he'd just used the butt to club the poor guy into silence. He stared at her, seemingly daring her to call him out on it. She was still half crouched, in an awkward and vulnerable position, and he knew it.

"What now?" Pheist asked, forcing a calmness she didn't feel just then into her voice. Hopefully deferring to his more senior ranking would soothe his ego. She watched as he continued to measure up the situation, weighing out his option, and released a quiet breath when he stepped out into the hall and jerked his chin to the left.

"Go see if there's an alternate route to the shuttle bay. We can take one of theirs."

Pheist straightened up, her movements unhurried still. "That needs to be cauterized or he'll bleed out," she said with a nod to the now unconscious not-Jones.

With his helmet on, she couldn't see what colour his skin was, but judging by the constipated tone of his response she imagined something magenta hued. "Find me a _fucking_ shuttle before I blow off your other arm and shove it down your god damn throat!"

This was of course the moment the pup chose to let loose another terrier-esque snarl, which coincided perfectly with the lull between the siren's wails.

Jones' head snapped towards the storage unit and he moved into the doorway, scanning the space. She could see the moment he spotted the little Yautja and raised his rifle.

"No!" Pheist launched herself into his shoulder, slamming him into the doorframe. A stray bolt smashed into the shelving unit, sending debris flying, but she hoped the pup had been sheltered at least.

With a shout of fury, Jones threw his elbow backwards, grazing Pheist's side as she sidestepped to avoid the maneuver. She cracked the handle of her bowie against the back of his helmet, knowing it wouldn't do any real damage but might momentarily faze him. He was far larger than her and while she didn't want to have to hurt him, she knew he had no such qualms about injuring her if his treatment of not-Jones was any indication.

Evidently knocking him in the head only served to infuriate him further, however, as he got his arms up and shoved himself back from the doorframe, battering her into the opposing wall. While her armor protected her, the force of the impact still dazed as her head bounced off the unforgiving metal panel behind her. She barely had time to throw up a block as he whirled on her, swinging his rifle like a club. It jarred her flesh and bone forearm badly and the bowie slipped from her fingers as pins and needles shot through them. Aiming a kick into his side, Pheist attempted to drive him back and give herself some room, but his arm clamped down to trap her foot before she could pull back. She staggered as he spun and used his momentum to hurl her into wall again.

All of the air was driven from her lungs as she dropped to the ground. Warnings of damage to her armor flashed across her HUD. She rolled before a plasma bolt could connect, an act based purely on intuition and the knowledge Jones would not have any moral dilemma over shooting her while she was down. Her foot shot out blindly, crunching into his shin and taking him off balance. She heard him stagger. It gave a precious fraction of a second. Drawing a ragged breath of air in, Pheist's focus zeroed in on the combi-stick and she snatched it up as she twisted away from a second plasma bolt, one knee planted as she pivoted on it. The blast caught her hip as she did so and white, hot pain seared her side as further alerts of compromised armor integrity bombarded her HUD.

Whipping the combi-stick up in desperation, Pheist was almost caught off guard to feel the weapon make contact, not expecting to have the reach to actually trouble Jones with the attack. She'd been hoping to startle him into a backwards step. Hoping not to die right then. But as she stared up at him, Jones dropped his rifle and groped the alien spear, his hands clenching around the shaft spasmodically. He made a noise caught somewhere between a growl and a gurgle and his weight suddenly bore down on the end of the combi-stick, wrenching it from her grasp as he collapsed into a heap before her.

Pheist sucked in lungfuls of air as she struggled up to her feet. Leaning back against the wall, she silenced the suit's warnings and glanced down to her side. Bio-foam dribbled down her thigh from the integrated survival kit, coating the melted rent in her armor and tinged pink with her blood. It, fortunately, had numbing properties built into it and the burning eased ever so slightly as she stood regaining her breath. The ship's security alarm cut off mid-blare and despite the fact she didn't believe it boded well, she couldn't help being relieved the noise had stopped. Her gaze travelled over to Jones and back up the length of the combi-stick. It was longer now than it had been when she'd grabbed it, she realized. Which meant it had extended mid strike. She pushed away from the wall and took ahold of it, jerking it free of Jones' chest.

Three sharp clicks made her aware she was no longer alone in the hall. The Yautja materialized only a few feet from Jones' body, drawing his clawed hand back from his wrist device. He'd disengaged his active camouflage and stood facing her silently.

Pheist eyed the plasmacaster mounted above his left shoulder ominously. At this range, she'd be a steaming splatter of gore on the floor if he chose to use it.

The Hunter, however, flexed his talons instead and his wristblades snapped out.

"Right." So this was supposed to be a fair fight.

Carefully reaching up, Pheist's hand closed around the stock of her rifle.

The Yautja snarled and took a step forward before Pheist yanked the strap over her helmet and tossed the weapon behind her. This stilled his approach.

As she shifted her stance and brought the combi-stick up in a defensive posture, a deep rumble left his chest. She hoped it was approval. And that she wasn't about to wet herself.


	2. 2

**Pronunciations:**

**Pheist = F-eye-sst (one syllable)**

**Note the use of military jargon is not meant to offend. I am not military. I respect those who are immensely. Some terms may not be used appropriately, some are invented for the purpose of this story. I welcome all suggestions and corrections.**

**From the previous chapter:**

**Sit-rep : situational report**

**Tango-uniform : tits up (dead)**

* * *

Jones' armor crunched beneath the feet of the charging, snarling Yautja.

Pheist powered forward with an angled slice of the combi-stick, knowing distance was her friend here and that she needed to keep the Hunter back where her weapon was the most deadly. In close quarters it would be impossible to get any momentum behind her swings. Fortunately, the hallway was wide enough to accommodate the fully extended spear.

Her opponent slid aside with an agility which belied his size and the serrated tip scraped harmlessly off his pauldron.

Thrusting the alternate end up, Pheist parried one of his wristblades, the impact forcing a jolt up her arm.

The second wristblade swept in for her open side and Pheist dropped down beneath the blow, jerking to the right as she did so. The movement reminded her of the plasma hole in her oblique, however, and she hissed in pain.

Now in the very unenviable position of being crouched before the more than seven feet of Yautja in front of her, she jabbed the combi-stick out to give herself time to recover, but again with impossible speed the strike was knocked aside. This time the Hunter's wristblade caught on the spear and he wrenched it back sharply, forcing Pheist to decide between stumbling forward into him or relinquishing her weapon – which she did. At the same time the shaft was torn free of her grasp she saw the second wristblade flashing in again. No longer thinking at this point, merely reacting, she stepped inside the attack and threw her hand out to catch his forearm. Had it been her flesh and bone arm, the Yautja would have easily overpowered her. But her cybernetic fingers closed around the inside of his wrist and slowed it enough that instead of slicing into her, the momentum swept her sideways into the wall. Pain exploded through her shoulder at the collision, but she held onto the Hunter's arm with a tenacity only the will to survive can provide, keeping the wristblade at bay.

The Yautja roared in response, the sheer volume at this proximity battering her senses. She heard the second wristblade retract with a _snick_ and suddenly a taloned hand wrapped around her neck, lifting her bodily from the floor. More alerts flashed on her HUD as the thin, woven material of her gorget crumpled under the pressure of his grasp. Pheist lashed out desperately with her boots as her arm shuddered under the strain of continuing to hold her opponent's wrist. A small grunt was her only reward when one foot clipped his hip. She gasped as the lack of oxygen began to make her vision blur. Her free hand clawed clumsily at the thick fingers crushing her windpipe, hardly under her control any longer, and drifted down over the Yautja's wrist device.

Wait. The device. Could she damage it? Would that distract him from squeezing the very life from her body?

Balling her hand into a fist, she raised it and brought it down on the interface.

The Hunter chittered his amusement at her feeble attempt to thwart him.

Blackness tinged her sight as Pheist lifted her fist again and smashed her protected knuckles into the device. Something shattered. The screen? A pulse of blue electricity arced over the Yautja's armor and he growled his displeasure before ramming his bio-mask into her helmet. The visor shattered and her HUD winked out, rendering her blind. Not that it mattered. She was on the verge of passing out anyway, the pain blooming in her face at the impact barely registering.

Just as her muscles went slack the Hunter released her and she crumpled onto the deck at his feet. Stars danced through her vision as her body twitched with the restoration of oxygenated blood flow. Sounds flitted in and out as though the armor's muting function was malfunctioning. As conscious thought returned to her, Pheist pieced together the situation, deciding the Yautja must be distracted by his wrist device and whatever she'd managed to do to it. Considering she was sprawled in an unresponsive heap before him, she didn't blame him for being unconcerned. She knew this respite would be short lived, however, and her cybernetic hand – the first extremity to return to functional use - groped the floor for anything she might use to defend herself.

Noting her movement, her opponent drew back one massive foot and launched it into her gut.

Pheist managed to curl inwards somewhat to protect her stomach, but the blow still had her sputtering and wheezing more than she already had been. Her wounded side screamed in protest. Spots flashed before her eyes in the otherwise blackness of her inoperable helmet. Her fingers slid over a familiar object and clenched automatically. She inhaled greedily through the spasming of her abused abdominals and slammed the bowie as high up into where she speculated his thigh to be as she could reach. As the Yautja screeched and pulled his leg back she ripped the knife free and struck again, this time slashing across the back of his uninjured leg. Hot blood gushed over her hand.

Scrambling backwards, she wrenched her helmet off with her free hand and blinked in the dull red glow of the heat lamps lining the ceiling of the hallway. Sweat and blood trickled down her brow.

Staggering, the Hunter's leg buckled beneath him and he fell to one knee. The extended wristblade streaked in for a killing blow despite his obvious handicap and Pheist threw herself back down onto the deck. The double-mounted blades gouged holes in the wall above her where they struck.

Surging upright once more, Pheist rammed the bowie into the Yautja's chest just beneath the edge of the armored plate which protected his two hearts and at an upward angle. He bellowed a mixture of pain and outrage directly into her face and locked his arms around her, trapping one arm against her side as he squeezed.

An agonized cry tore from Pheist as she strained against the debilitating embrace. Her breastplate fractured with a resounding snap. Bucking wildly as she felt her ribs compress, her knee connected with the hilt of the bowie, jarring it and eliciting a snarl from the Hunter. Fueled by panic and adrenaline, she jerked her knee up into the knife handle again. And again. And again. Until finally, a violent quivering swept through the Yautja and he toppled forwards, pinning her to the floor.

Lying beneath the hulking alien, Pheist could feel his last rattling breaths. She stared up at the heat lamps, willing her galloping heartrate to slow, sucking in shallow gulps of air as his weight bore down on her. Attempts to push him off or wriggle out proved futile.

"Fuck…"

In the storage unit, she could hear the pup squalling. And then abruptly, it ceased.

Pheist swallowed and shoved at the dead Yautja again. She couldn't see over top of his large frame and arching her neck did nothing but tell her there was absolutely nothing resembling a weapon close at hand.

Three green dashes in triangular formation tracked up over the dead Hunter's back. Pheist exhaled harshly as they climbed up her torso, flashing over her eyes and forcing her to squint. She followed the beam to the Yautja whose laser sight they belonged, spotting the pup clutched in his taloned hands.

Well, wasn't this ironic.

Pheist allowed her head to drop back to the deck and did her best to make peace with this life. It hadn't always been shit. At least she'd had the satisfaction of taking down Jones. Small victories.

"Whenever you're ready, Bravo Uniform Mike." How long was one really expected to wait on baited breath for their own demise?

Although she refused to warily eye his approach, Pheist could sense him moving in closer. She chose a point on the ceiling to resolutely fasten her gaze onto and took measured, deep breaths, willing her nerves away. This was out of her hands. She'd fought. She'd fought fucking tooth and nail. With several hundred pounds of dead weight trapping her and no way to defend herself, there was nothing more which could be done. She wasn't about to die snotting and begging for mercy.

The hissing of decompressing air caught her attention, however, and she glanced over just as the Yautja removed his bio-mask. Tucked into the crook of his arm, the pup trilled in either agitation or curiosity.

Pheist met the penetrating stare of the Hunter, taking in the keen intelligence behind the recessed golden eyes. They contrasted sharply with his inky black hide, as did the ivory of his sizeable tusks, which clicked softly in speculation as he sized her up.

"Just fucking do it, get it over with," she couldn't help snapping in intrepid exasperation. Her heartrate had kicked back up a notch at this silent inspection. He could see she was stuck. That she was done.

Head cocking to the side at her outburst, he chuffed. Clipping his bio-mask to his belt, he then proceeded to reach over and roll the prone form of his fellow Hunter off of her.

Pheist lay dumbfounded for a beat and then heaved herself to the side, getting her feet beneath herself. Every muscle in her body burned in complaint as she stood up and her breath hitched at the biting pain in her side, but she kept her focus on the Yautja as he too rose to his full height.

"I'm not laying a beating on you while you hold the runt," she heard herself inform her would-be opponent. "Put him back in the storage unit and let's get this over with." There was no way she had the strength or stamina remaining to best another of his kind. Determination and her armor had brought her this far, but the former was now all but spent and the latter wouldn't hold up to a bar brawl, nevermind a Yautja.

For clarification since he didn't seem to understand her, Pheist pointed to the pup and then the storage unit. "It's safer in there."

The Hunter followed her gesture and clicked his tusks again slowly. To her amazement he then indicated her with a talon, the pup, and the storage unit before cocking his head yet again.

"Yeah, I… hid him in there," she confirmed, uncertain if this was what he meant.

More considering clicks. The Yautja then brought his fist to his chest and tapped his bio-mask, pointing to her and then Jones' trampled body, then back to her and to his fallen brethren.

It took Pheist a moment to work through the series of gestures. "You… saw me and Jones? Fight. You saw us fight." She felt a chill creep down her spine. "You saw everything," she concluded, shifting uneasily. Was that a good or bad thing? And why was he communicating it to her?

Rumbling in agreement, the Hunter turned his attention back to the dead Yautja. He crouched again, eliciting a snarl from the pup as it lurched forward with the motion, its small claws latching onto one of the tubular growths which sprouted from its protector's domed head.

Pheist started at the growl the adult male Yautja directed down into the face of the pup he carried in response. Unperturbed, the pup flared its mandibles. The runt certainly had no fear, she'd give him that. She thought she sensed some disgruntlement on the part of the male as he snatched the appendage from the pup's grasp before reaching out to pluck her bowie from the dead Hunter's chest. The blade came away dripping the green blood of its victim.

"That's mine."

Flipping the knife deftly so that the handle extended towards her, he offered it as he straightened back up.

Pheist felt her heart leap into her throat. She reached out and took the bowie, tamping down on the innate urge to snatch it away in fear. Was this some kind of truce?

Turning, the Yautja gazed down the hall as three more of his kind came around the bend. He chuffed and clicked to them as they approached.

Knees weak at the sight of three new enemies, Pheist shifted away from the wall and switched the knife to her cybernetic hand. There wasn't a hope in hell for her, but this newest development came close enough on the heels of what she'd dared to imagine was hope of surviving this clusterfuck that the sting of the unfairness of it spurred her on.

One of the newcomers zeroed in on the shift in her stance and the plasmacaster on his shoulder swiveled up to lock onto her, causing her insides to clench.

Before she could fathom reacting, the unmasked male snarled and stepped directly into the line of fire.

The party of Hunters halted and much heated growling and clicking followed.

Pheist barely breathed, feeling the tension rise as they presumably discussed her fate. Her options were severely limited at this point. She could attempt to run, but not only would that play directly into their deepest desire by supplying them with the opportunity to hunt her down, she knew she wouldn't make it far. This ship was one of theirs. She had no idea where the hallways led. Her armor was structurally unsound. She was exhausted, injured.

The exchange broke off and the pup was handed off to one of the newcomers. The unmasked Yautja then turned back to her and stalked in, closing the distance between them rapidly.

Fingers clenching reflexively around the knife handle, Pheist locked her arm at the last moment to keep it down by her side. She didn't want to attack him. He'd shown her what she believed had been his respect when he'd made her aware he'd seen her best Jones and the other Hunter. He could have killed her easily, but had chosen to communicate with her instead, and return her weapon to her. So she mulishly stood her ground as all seven and a half feet of him advanced to within a hand's breadth. At this proximity she had to ratchet her head back substantially just to keep eye contact and she noted with odd detachment the olive green, burnished yellow, and murky gray mottling throughout what had at first appeared to be a flat black hide.

Regarding her with calculating scrutiny, the male abruptly hurled a thunderous roar into her face, mandibles stretching wide as the challenge reverberated heavily through his chest.

Pheist's jaw tightened until her teeth began to grind as she held herself still, refusing to flinch or turn away despite the risk of rendering her eardrums useless. If this was some kind of test – and she felt reasonably sure that it was – then it was one which she didn't think she could afford to fail. Her ears continued to buzz long after the deafening sound died away.

The Yautja lowered his head, fierce golden eyes skewering her in place as he brought his flared tusks in closer. Just as a lower mandible scraped her temple, Pheist's unarmed hand shot up to his chest.

"Easy there, tall and dark. I'm not the cuddling type," she murmured, applying some pressure in the hopes he might ease back and that the tautened muscles beneath her fingers didn't indicate he was about to decapitate her.

Drawing away, the male released a low trill as he examined her perhaps unusual reaction, and Pheist was momentarily fascinated by the vibration as it tickled her fingertips. Satisfied by whatever it was which had just taken place, he then turned towards the three others again. They shared long looks before the one holding the pup approached and passed it back, striding back down the hall the way they'd come with the other two and disappearing around the opposite corner.

* * *

**From this chapter:**

**Bravo uniform mike : Big ugly motherfucker**


	3. 3

Surreal.

That was the only word Pheist knew which could aptly describe her current predicament. That, or fucked.

Surreal seemed classier. Her high society, perfectly coiffed, elegant mother would have approved.

Pheist could still see her beautiful, cold, cold eyes.

A halfhearted snarl brought her out of her introspection and she glanced down to the pup in her lap. It knocked its head against her breastplate as it squirmed and a sharper snarl was released.

"Hey, you're alive." Things could be worse.

Evidently the pup didn't agree. The volume of his protestations rose and Pheist's poor ears couldn't handle it. Not only did she suspect she was concussed, she was tired of Yautja assaulting her eardrums.

Levering herself up from the oversized seat the unmasked male had directed her to upon boarding the alien shuttle, she hobbled up the small corridor which separated the holding bay from the bridge. Everything hurt.

"Any idea what the runt w-…" she trailed off as the scene out the view screen opened up before her.

The _Gemini_ was no longer whole. Pieces of the sleek destroyer free floated in the vacuum of space and the external running lights were dark. A falcon shot past, informing her that at least some personnel had escaped, but as she watched, a Yautjan cruiser looming in the distance opened fire and the small close range strike craft disintegrated. Several UAA shuttles were hightailing it out of the area as the dozen or so falcons she could see zipped around the alien cruisers – five in total, she counted – pestering them more than anything. Their weapons wouldn't be capable of doing enough damage to the heavily shielded cruisers to make a difference. They were buying time for the shuttles to escape. Creating a distraction.

Speaking of distractions, the male in the pilot's seat rumbled disapprovingly at the pup squalling on the bridge and flicked an impatient hand back towards the hold.

"I don't know what to do with it," Pheist complained, tearing her gaze away from the view screen. What could she do to help her comrades? She was alone on an alien shuttle with only her bowie. Guilt niggled at her insides as she considered her duty was probably to kill the male and use the shuttle to help with the distraction in any way possible. But again, she didn't want to attack him. He'd spared her for some reason and as far as she could tell she wasn't his captive at this point. He'd made no move restrain her and had even given her back her knife. Then he'd proceeded to lead her off of the wrecked Yautjan ship and passed the pup to her in order to pilot the shuttle. Not only was he not treating her as a prisoner, he'd entrusted her with the vulnerable offspring.

Chuffing in disinterest, he continued to focus on what he was doing; maneuvering them closer to one of the cruisers to dock, she assumed.

Pheist sighed and shifted the pup from one arm to the other as it wriggled and made its displeasure known. Loudly.

"You're gonna have to work with me here, I don't know what it wants." She pointed to the pup and spread her hand in case he wasn't understanding what it was she was bitching about.

Pulling one hand back from the controls, he indicated his mouth.

"Feed it?" she deduced after a moment. "What? Are there supplies on board?" She hadn't investigated the shuttle's contents, she'd been too busy having a crisis.

The male swiveled his chair at this and clicked his mandibles as he regarded her. He then, without hesitation, reached out and tapped her breastplate with a talon.

Pheist blanked. "Food. I'm asking what to feed it," she repeated slowly, gesturing to the pup and shrugging her shoulders.

He once again reached out, although this time he cupped the armor covering her chest in a manner which could leave no doubt as to what he was suggesting.

She peeled his hand away with a snort. "With those teeth? Not a chance." She actually felt bad for the females upon getting a good look at the runt's chompers. "Not that it even works that way."

To her amusement the male simply chittered and turned back to the controls. He'd been having her on, it seemed.

"Ah, so you have a sense of humour." Was that odd for one of his kind? "Not to be dramatic, but since you have my life in your hands and all it might be worth exchanging names. I'm Pheist." Since he wasn't paying attention to her any longer she slid into the co-pilot's seat and tried again, rapping her knuckles against her breastplate. "Pheist." She pointed to him and tilted her head, as she'd witnessed him doing when exhibiting curiosity.

Nothing. No response.

Absorbed in what he was doing, he failed to even acknowledge her.

"Right. So then you won't mind if I just make up something."

Still nothing.

At least the pup had quieted down. Pheist peered down and noticed the small, beady eyes had drifted closed. Although the pup continued to grumble softly, it seemed as though it had worn itself out.

Good.

"Jester," she pulled from thin air, looking towards the male again to see if he cared.

No dice.

She supposed navigating through the debris of what had once been the destroyer she'd been stationed on did required some concentration. A handful of falcons still seemed to be causing grief, as well.

"Riot."

A twisted heap of metal scraped the hull as they squeaked past a little too close for comfort and the male corrected their course, slanting her a sideways look she had no trouble interpreting as his lower mandibles spread and a snarl escaped.

"Oh, that was my fault?" Pheist rolled her eyes. "Riot it is, then." She didn't have the mental wherewithal to come up with anything better right then and while maybe he wasn't a riot by human standards, he had cracked a joke at her expense, which was more than she'd ever known any other Yautja to do.

Riot ignored her again and there were no further mishaps as he brought their craft into the open bay of one of the cruisers.

The last of the falcons seemed to have been dealt with, but it hadn't appeared as though any of the Yautja vessels were giving chase to the UAA shuttles at least. Some of her comrades had escaped. Exhaustion and the mental image of all those slaughtered females and their young tempered her distress at so many lost human lives. Someone in command had to have given the go ahead when the initial boarding party had reported the non-combatants on board.

Shaking away those thoughts, Pheist refocused on the present just as the shuttle touched down and deck clamps secured it in place with a jolt. She watched as Riot powered everything down. "What now?" Was she going to be safe out there?

Without responding, Riot stood and strode off the bridge.

"Uh-huh, that was enlightening."

Fingers drifting down to the thigh-holster her bowie was tucked inside, Pheist inhaled and told herself to pull up her big girl skivvies. She got up and followed Riot to the holding bay as he touched the panel beside the loading door. It opened with a depressurizing hiss of air and he walked down the ramp without so much as a backward glance.

A group of four Yautja were approaching from the direction of another shuttle and Riot clasped the shoulder of the foremost, giving it a hearty shake, which his counterpart reciprocated. They all removed their bio-masks and were in what she assumed to be deep conversation as Pheist stepped off the ramp. She suspected these were not the same Hunters who'd run across them on the damaged cruiser judging from their reactions when they noted her presence. Two broke away immediately with mirroring growls and moved towards her, but once again Riot put himself in their path. Their gazes wavered between her and him for several tense moments. Unsure what, if anything, was happening, she was surprised when Riot turned back and chuffed, beckoning her over with the seemingly universal come-hither gesture.

Pheist warily made her way across the docking bay. Pausing at Riot's side, she pushed the pup into his abdomen, prompting him to take the dozing youngling. If this devolved into violence, she needed her hands free. That and she didn't want the hapless pup to be injured. Neither did she particularly want to face the four Yautja, but in her case beggars couldn't be choosers. She might not have a clue what he planned, but she needed to follow Riot's lead. They were amongst his kind right now. She was entirely at his mercy.

"Fellas," she greeted with a slow nod.

The pup had woken during the handoff and resumed snarling obnoxiously.

"Maybe you should feed him," Pheist suggested with a brazen prod to Riot's exposed peck followed by an indication of the pup's gnashing teeth.

Cocking his head momentarily, Riot swiftly caught on to her meaning with a loud trill of mirth.

The other four shared what she suspected were puzzled looks.

Meanwhile, the pup's squalling reached as yet unheard levels of 'ow'.

"Seriously though, you should deal with that," Pheist informed him. Her head was throbbing. Probably worse than the rest of her. Maybe.

Riot chuffed again and awkwardly adjusted the pup, who was laughably dwarfed by his bulk.

Then again, so was she.

As she watched, his chest began to rumble gently. The pup, pressed up against this resonating wall of flesh, silenced. Its tiny fists relaxed and its mandibles eased together as though under some kind of spell.

Pheist stared at the towering Hunter as he purred the distraught pup into docile submissiveness and then, without warning, shoved it back into her care. Before she could protest he had turned on his heel and headed for the doors she assumed led further into the ship.


	4. 4

It hadn't taken many brain cells to deduce the quarters he dumped her off into were his.

Pheist was so busy trying to decide what species each skull proudly mounted on the trophy wall belonged to that she didn't pay much attention to the fact he hadn't stepped into the cabin with her until the door slid shut.

"Riot?"

Walking back to the panel, she waved a hand over it experimentally and then hit some of the Yautjan symbols when it failed to open. The display flashed angrily at her.

If she broke the damn thing he'd probably be perturbed, right?

"Or maybe he'd find it funny?"

 _Someone_ would be perturbed. Whoever was in charge of the cruiser, most likely. And while she didn't know a helluva lot about Yautjan chain of command, she knew it was generally not in your best interest to piss off the higher-ups. Of which Riot was clearly not one, if the exchange between him and a larger Yautja who had ambushed them in the halls had been any indication.

The – Pheist assumed – more senior ranking Hunter had growled, spread his mandibles, and proceeded to stab a taloned finger in her direction multiple times while he'd glowered down at Riot. It hadn't required knowing what was being said for her to understand he was being chewed out, possibly for bringing her back to the cruiser with him. Instead of getting in the bigger male's way, as he'd done previously when others had attempted to approach her, Riot had remained still as the Yautja stalked up to her. He'd snarled and ripped the pup from her arms. Sensing wisecracks would not win this one over, she'd lowered her gaze and said nothing and eventually wound up here. At least it wasn't the brig.

Pheist did a slow circuit of the space. It was larger than the standard quarters on any UAA ship she'd ever served aboard. Adjacent to the trophy wall some shelving seemingly built for the exact purpose held two further bio-masks and various other pieces of armor. Riot hadn't removed what he'd been wearing before locking her in there, so she surmised these were spares. Or simply alternates, for different occasions. One mask was filled with scrollwork and symbols. Fancy.

A generously sized platform heaped with furs dominated the opposite wall. Definitely bigger than the bunks she was accustomed to.

Moving towards the second door, Pheist was both unsurprised yet jealous when it slid aside to reveal the equivalent of a head. She leaned into the wet room, noting the panels which seemed as though they probably controlled a showerhead of sorts and also a recessed bowl which must be the Yautjan answer to the pesky conundrum of bodily functions.

Pheist eyed the shower in particular with wistful longing. She was covered in dried splatters of both green and red blood and the smartweave suit she wore beneath her armor was starting to itch something fierce now that the perspiration running down her back had cooled. Although rinsing away the sweat and gore was a tempting prospect, it wasn't worth the risk of being walked in on, completely defenseless.

Returning to what served as the bed, she sat on the edge and began to assess the damage to her armor. Her helmet had been left behind along with her plasma rifle. Fingers gently probing her side, Pheist had to admit the biofoam was doing an admirable job of making the plasma burn bearable. She wasn't sure how long the numbing effect would last, however, and wondered what passed for medical treatment on a Yautjan ship. Somehow her tired brain managed to conjure images of being primitively sewn up with old world needle and thread. She rolled her eyes at herself and moved on from the injury to her breastplate. A sizeable crack ran the diagonal length of it from her left shoulder to the opposite bottom edge. When she touched it a faint electric shock leapt across the gap between the broken pieces and zapped her fingertips.

"Bastard," Pheist hissed, jerking her hand back.

The rest of her armor seemed functional if battered. Apart from the burn hole from the plasma bolt that had grazed her, which was the reason the smartweave was no longer active and keeping her at a comfortable temperature. She could feel sweat prickling over her body again in the sauna like heat and humidity of the Yautjan cruiser.

Shifting from the bed to the floor, where there was a chance the air would be cooler, Pheist pressed her back to the wall opposite the door and settled in to wait. Again, she took solace from the fact she was not bound, locked up, or dead. Riot would return eventually and she'd figure out what the hell was going on.

* * *

The door slid open and Pheist pushed herself up stiffly. Her hair felt plastered to her skull and rivulets of perspiration leaked around gaps in her suit the sudden shift in position had opened up, making her cringe inwardly. She felt disgusting.

Riot, on the other hand, appeared no different than he had before as he stomped into the room, rumbling.

Was he angry? She suspected the last few hours that she'd spent slowly melting into a puddle of grossness on his floor, he might have been receiving a telling off.

"So nice of you to remember I'm here."

The door closed. Riot seemed to be eying her up.

Trying to decide what to do with her?

Before _she_ could decide what it was _he_ was trying to decide, he'd apparently made up his mind. He pointed to her and then the head.

"Yeah, I saw it. Lucky you. I get to share with a bunch of cretins."

Snarling, Riot indicated the wet room again. He followed her as she went in, humouring him. He didn't seem in the best of moods and while he hadn't been bothered by her irreverence thus far she wasn't sure how far to push it. He slapped a hand over the panel and, as she'd correctly guessed, water began to stream down from the ceiling.

"Looks hot," Pheist observed as steam wafted up, clouding the air. She stumbled as Riot grabbed her breastplate and attempted to wrench it off. "Woah, stop – you'll make it worse!"

Lower mandibles flaring, he flung his hand towards the water.

"Thanks, but I'm good," she assured with a head shake to ensure he understood.

Considering her momentarily, he growled and left her to return to the other room.

Edging into the doorway, Pheist raised a brow as she watched him removing his own armor with the jerky, heavy-handed movements which suggested frustration. He left everything in a pile on the floor and turned to head back her way, clad only in a leathery looking loincloth.

Hastily stepping to the side, she was intending go back to her spot on the floor until he'd finished – maybe then he'd tell her what the fuck was happening – but his hand shot out and closed around her bicep.

"Wait," Pheist blurted as he dragged her back into the wet room. She planted her feet and braced against his hold, but it did nothing. "Stop!"

Yanking her forward, Riot snarled again and this time, using his free hand, he pinched the bridge of her nose and then point emphatically to she herself.

"What?" She paused. "I smell?"

Chuffing, he shoved her towards the stream of water, and Pheist barely twisted aside to avoid it.

"I can't go in there, my armor's breached – just, wait!" She skittered back as he made another grab for her. "Wait, damnit! I'll take it off, give me a fucking minute!" Smacking his hand aside when it reached out again, she adopted a fighting stance. She probably did reek, but she wasn't about to let him toss her under the water in her armor.

Apparently having had enough of her reticence, Riot made her aware of his displeasure with a booming roar.

"Give it a fucking rest!" Pheist hollered back at him, the throbbing in her temple making the action instantly regrettable. She glared at him nonetheless as she began depressing the recessed switches which disengaged the various hard shelled components of her armor.

Rumbling menacingly, he watched but didn't move to stop her as she went back into the other room to take it off.

Pheist couldn't deny it felt good to be free of the heavy pieces. She rolled her shoulders carefully after setting the breastplate down last. Her muscles ached both from the ordeal on the cruiser and from sitting stationary for so long.

The sound of water running in the next room cut off and the wet squish of footsteps informed her Riot had finished. She turned towards the doorway in case he had further notions of manhandling her into the shower and couldn't help a brow drifting upward as she caught sight of him standing there, staring her down. Droplets dribbled down his expansive form, puddling on the floor at his feet, and Pheist's eyes couldn't help following their path.

"My turn?"

With a chuff of confirmation, he shifted from blocking her path and she padded into the wet room before he could change his mind about accompanying her. Hitting the panel beside the door, she sighed when it slid shut. He might not mind an audience, and frankly she wasn't all that sensitive about nudity either, but this was not a human ship and anyone who might visit Riot's quarters would have a grand view. She shimmied out of the smartweave and hung it on a peg by the door before attempting to change the temperature setting in the shower to anything other than scald. Failing that, she edged her way inch by inch beneath the stream of blazing water, allowing her body to acclimatize as best she could. Her skin flushed an angry scarlet immediately, but the heat did sooth her muscles and a blissful groan escaped her.


	5. 5

It hadn't taken as long as one might have expected for Pheist to pass out cold on the floor. One minute she'd been eying the fluffy mass of pelts piled high on Riot's bed and ruing her now seemingly prudish decision not to join him, and the next she'd been asleep.

She woke to stiffened muscles and numbness creeping up her left side, apparently having not stirred even an inch. Slowly sitting up, Pheist stifled a yawn as her gaze swept over the room, noting its owner's absence. Disgruntled that she hadn't heard him leave, she stood and went to the door without any real expectation that it would open for her. Still, she was pissed enough to kick it a little for being so rude.

"Fucking great…"

Her armor was still in a tidy heap in the corner and unfortunately also still crusted in gore. At least _she_ no longer offended her saviour/captor's delicate senses, however. She supposed he did have keener olfactory receptors than she did, and even she'd been aware she'd stunk. But there were worse things. Stinky trumped dead, for instance.

Pheist stretched some of the tightness out of her limbs as she paced around the room, making use of the head and chancing a drink from the shower. While hot water wasn't her beverage of choice, it tasted potable at least.

Wandering over to the bed, she sat down to inspect her wound again. Most of the biofoam had rinsed off the day before, but the burn wasn't as excruciating as it had been initially so she hoped that was a good sign. It appeared red and angry, but then she expected that from a plasma blast. As she shifted her focus to gingerly fingering the back of her skull, her foot bumped something hiding beneath the edge of a fur hanging over the side of the bed. She scooted off and crouched down, lifting up the tawny hide, which happened to be distractingly soft.

"What…?"

Books?

She reached under the bed and tugged out the three volumes. They were indeed novels. The covers were creased and faded, the spines worn thin from being opened so many times. Pheist stared down at them in amazement, shuffling through. _The Count of Monte Cristo, The Hobbit,_ and _To Kill a Mockingbird._ But where had Riot found them? Could he read them, did he understand English? She frowned as she carefully fanned through the pages of _The Hobbit._ It wasn't a hardcover, but the date inside indicated it had been printed in 2002. That was over 90 years earlier. Which meant despite the fact a select few publishers in the colonies still printed paper copies of books - for an exorbitant price - this book had come from Earth. Had Riot been there?

Before Pheist had time to ponder this further, a metallic object stuffed further beneath the bed caught her eye. She set the books on the furs and fished it out, marveling at the device. She'd never held one before, but she knew what it had been used for. Transmitting communications and accessing the online repository of information of the times - the internet. They'd become obsolete some 50 years earlier when people had begun having chips embedded in their temples which allowed them to do this with little more than a thought. She turned it over, searching for a way to activate it, wondering if it was still functional. Was there a voice command? A button?

That was, of course, the moment the door slid open to admit Riot. Pheist glanced up in time to watch his hackles rise at her snooping. His mandibles spread and a deep growl preceded him as he stepped inside.

Curiously, he was carrying something clutched in his talons, and it was on that Pheist naturally chose to focus instead of her impending doom.

"What'cha got there?" she asked in what she hoped was a suitably casual tone as she laid the cell phone on his bed alongside the books and stood up. She'd been caught red handed, but she didn't intend to draw attention to it. It was possible he could be distracted.

The door closed silently as Riot continued to approach, his gaze fierce and the rumbling growl growing in volume.

Pheist tried again, indicating his fist. "For me?" She pointed to herself with a head tilt.

Without warning, he flung the item at her. Though her first instinct was to dodge, she could see that whatever he'd thrown wasn't threatening. Catching it before it smacked her in the face, Pheist held up the strange material. It occurred to her it was made from the same substance as his loin cloth.

"I'm supposed to wear this?" It seemed to be a garment, though thankfully not of the same variety as he wore. It reminded her somewhat of the dreadful robes one had to wear when having a medical procedure done. "Pass. But thanks."

When the growling ratcheted up another notch she knew that had not been the correct response.

"Look, I have my one clothes." She gestured towards her smartweave.

Riot surprised her by ceasing his grumbling and instead pointing to her side, to her wound. Or maybe the hole in her suit. His mandibles had closed up somewhat and he clicked a few times. Distracting him had been the right call, it seemed.

"So I put this on, then what? I still have no idea what I'm doing here," she prompted him despite suspecting he wouldn't understand. Then again. "Can you read? These?" She picked up a book and hastily took a step back when he lunged in. "Wait! I'm not going to hurt it." She held it out for him, the other hand palm up to show she meant no harm. "Do you understand them? The words?" Carefully, she tapped the cover, the title.

Considering this a moment, Riot chuffed and took the book from her.

Was that an affirmative?

Pheist looked around, but there was nothing she could use to test her theory, no way to attempt to communicate with him via text. If only the cell phone worked. Biting her lip, she indicated it where it still rested on the pelts. "Can I use that? Does it work?"

He followed her gesture and reached out to pick up the device, which looked incredibly flimsy in his large hand. Again, he seemed to contemplate his actions or her request for a time. She was beginning to doubt he would give her the cell phone when he squeezed the sides, triggering the screen to light up. He conscientiously entered a passcode, which gave her hope that as he obviously understood how it worked, he probably knew at least some of her language in written form if not in spoken. His gaze slid back to her and he clicked again in warning as he finally offered it to her.

A little overwhelmed, it took a moment for her to locate an icon which seemed promising. It opened a window and a keyboard appeared beneath it. Pheist blanked for a moment before simply typing ' _do you understand? can you read this?'_ and holding it up for him to see _._

To her delight, Riot chuffed immediately.

"Oh fuck yes. This is good." She typed again. ' _Why did you bring me with you?'_ and showed him.

This time, he took the cell phone from her. As she watched, he made several painful attempts to type a response, but his talons clearly made the task almost impossible. He growled as he worked, frustrated. When he passed the device back, Pheist couldn't help her disappointment. For the amount of time he'd spent on it, the response was woefully short.

' _Ship explode'_ it read.

As if the blaring security alarms hadn't been clue enough of that. Sighing, she tried to decide how else to ask what she needed to know.

' _what are you going to do with me?'_

Riot cocked his head after reading the question. He pointed to the robe again.

 _'what next?'_ Pheist typed.

Reclaiming the cell phone, Riot awkwardly tapped in his answer. He showed her, but didn't offer the device back.

"Heal," she read aloud.

With another chuff, he turned and tucked the books and cell phone beneath his bed again with care.

"Well that was informative…"

Still, she went into the wet room to change. Shucking the smartweave, she turned the alien garment this way and that until she thought she understood how it was meant to be donned. A sash secured it at the waist and thankfully it fell to her knees, slightly oversized on her smaller than Yautja frame. She tossed the smartweave suit atop her armor when she returned and looked to Riot, who stood by the door.

"Pleased now?"

He waved a hand before the door panel instead of responding and headed out into the hall.

Rolling her eyes, Pheist followed. They passed through a number of corridors, Riot leading the way unerringly to a door which looked much the same as every other they'd passed along the way. She wasn't sure if the ship was deserted or if the fact they hadn't happened upon another soul was by chance or intended. She knew there _were_ other Yautja on board. But the eerie dim heat lights didn't really do much to indicate if it was currently part of the day or night cycle and she had by now thoroughly lost track of time. She figured she'd slept several hours.

Riot glanced back over his shoulder to her as the door opened and then went inside. From the hallway Pheist could tell this was the Yautja version of med bay. She stepped in, pausing when a wiry male with a faded hide turned to face them. He was taller than Riot, but with considerably less bulk, and his tusks were yellowed and worn.

Riot reached back before she could react and took her by the arm, dragging her forward. He clicked to the other as he indicated her side.

"It's fine." When attempting to wrench herself free did not yield the results she'd hoped for, Pheist sighed. "Know that I'm reconsidering your name, asshole." She tensed as the other Yautja approached and reached out, his claws noticeably longer than Riot's. How the hell did he manage? She envisioned being poked and prodded by the nefarious looking talons and wasn't enthused. "Nope, not interested. Thanks, but I'm good," she insisted firmly while straining backwards against Riot's grip and holding her free hand up to stop the other Yautja from advancing further.

Clacking his mandibles together, he gave Riot a significant look and then turned his back on them, going back to whatever he'd been doing when they'd entered with a grumble.

Pheist risked a glance up at Riot only to be met with a snarl as he yanked her from the room. Clearly this was not how he'd planned for things to happen.

"I don't need help, it's healing fine," she informed him as she stumbled along, aggravated at being pulled here and there. "Let go!"

Another Hunter came around the corner just as Riot released her, the suddenness of the action sending her sprawling onto all fours on the deck. He kept going, obviously miffed about her reaction to the healer, but the other male stopped to stare down at her instead of passing. Like Riot, he wore nothing but a loin cloth, but where Riot's hide was dark with barely visible muted splotches of colour, this Yautja was a much paler moss tone with russet stripes curling around his shoulders, torso, and thighs. His abdomen was a soft yellow and his crimson gaze pierced Pheist as she hastily got her feet beneath her again and righted herself.

By now Riot was several paces beyond them, but he'd turned to observe the impromptu face off.

It appeared the new male was more curious of her than anything. Or so his silent appraisal seemed to indicate.

"Hi," she offered, holding her ground and keeping her stance and tone neutral.

Riot chuffed to her and shifted. He was watching the other closely, but without any tension in his posture. Maybe he wasn't too worried about this guy.

Still, Pheist figured she was safer by his side, even if he was an ass. She moved past the male, trying not to find the way his red eyes followed her distressing. When she reached Riot, he continued to regard the other until the green Yautja went on his way and then turned his focus to her. His golden eyes were no less intense than the other's had been, but there seemed to be a hint of amusement behind them just the same.

"You done hauling me around now?" she couldn't help quipping.

Chittering, he took a step closer, bringing his chest up against her face.

Pheist nearly backpedaled, but stopped herself at the last moment as her head snapped back and she saw the way he was looming above her.

Ah, so this was to make a point.

She set her jaw and glared right back up at him, refusing to be cowed.

"If you start chestpounding I'll deck you, I promise."

A rumble did leave him, but it wasn't a growl. The rather soft reverberations, at this proximity, resonated in her own chest in an oddly relaxing manner.

Pheist found her hand drifting upwards to touch him, fingers vibrating against his warm hide.

The sound died away as he jerked back and snapped his mandibles together.

Was that suspicion she sensed? Wariness? Of her?

Riot led her back to his room, but didn't join her, and somehow she wasn't surprised as the door slid shut.

She didn't know what had happened, how he'd come into possession of the books and cell phone, or how it was he could read her language, but all signs seemed to point to him having had contact with humans before - _friendly_ contact. Including his nonchalance about taking her along with him.


	6. 6

It took what Pheist assumed to be two more days before she was again invited to leave Riot's quarters. And in that time she had searched every remaining nook and cranny of the space to find out more about who her curious new roommate had gotten the books and cell phone from. The items themselves hadn't offered any further clues, sadly. The books didn't have any enlightening dedications or even scribbled initials. And the cell phone - well, when she'd attempted to use it to ask him upfront who had taught him to read English, he'd snarled and nearly torn her arm - her cybernetic arm, no less - from the socket in order to retrieve it. After that he'd stopped hiding his treasures beneath the bed, to her disappointment. He'd left with them and they'd been nowhere to be seen when he'd next returned.

She'd done her best to scrub the dried blood from her armor in her infinitesimal boredom, but to her displeasure both it and her smartweave had disappeared from the peg in the wet room the next time she'd braved the scalding shower. Riot had not deigned to tell her what had become of her kit, neither had he been particularly impressed when she'd begun hurling his own neatly stowed armor at him in retaliation.

Glaring at him in mulish contempt as he stood in the open doorway, waiting for her to join him, Pheist knew they were at a stalemate. She probably shouldn't have messed with his shit. While she didn't believe he would have spaced her only belongings, she still knew this was payback. And that this opportunity for an outing may be a peace offering.

"Fine." The word was immature even by her standards, but still. She could hear her mother's cultured voice immediately. _"Really, Astridhe. Private school was a waste, I see."_ But then again, no. That revelation had happened much earlier on in life.

A slow series of clicks brought her back to herself and she blinked at the impatient alien watching her. Riot turned as though he'd had quite enough of waiting and she scurried after him before the door could close.

The corridors were just as vacant as they'd been before, but this time he led her into a lift. She felt it carry them to a higher level of the ship, but she couldn't understand the symbols displayed on the panel. When it came to a stop and the door slid back she was stunned by the difference in traffic.

Yautja moved in all directions, some armored but most equally as bereft of attire as Riot. They all walked with purpose, their gaits sinuous and predatory and frankly fucking intimidating. Few seemed to be making direct eye contact with one another, for the most part their vision was directed stolidly ahead and they ignored each other. She saw only a couple who moved in groups, engaged in some kind of conversation.

Riot chuffed to her before stepping out into the flow of massive bodies.

One hand unconsciously clutched the sash holding her robe closed as Pheist hurried after him. She didn't even have her bowie. Any one of these Hunters could likely carve her heart out with nothing but their talons, and without breaking a sweat.

Gazes slid heavily onto her as she did her best to match her pace to Riot's while staying close on his heels, but not close enough so as to trip him. She clenched her jaw and fixed her gaze resolutely on his back, sensing that to meet any of those gazes would not be conducive to remaining whole and upright.

Sweat had beaded up at her temple by the time they broke off from the throng and entered a spacious and open room. Metal tables with attached bench seating lined the perimeter and at them many Yautja sat eating. As Pheist stood beside Riot, a few Yautja of much smaller stature than she'd previously ever seen trotted back and forth between the tables, retrieving empty vessels or bringing out full ones. They, she noted promptly, wore robes similar to hers.

Is that what this was, then? Was she meant to serve as some kind of slave or lackey?

She was about to tear her gaze away from the scene before her when an even slighter figure snatched her attention. In a dim corner of the room, sitting at a table alone, was a woman. Pheist nearly forgot to breathe. A human.

Her feet were carrying her in that direction before she had even fathomed giving them the command. Riot growled from somewhere behind her, but Pheist only had eyes for the woman. Her lengthy chocolate hued hair was braided down her back and graying at the roots, and creases edged her sharp cerulean eyes. She leaned forward, her elbows on the tabletop as she watched Pheist approach.

"I… didn't expect to see you here," was the first thing that tumbled out as Pheist paused across the table from her. It only occurred to her afterwards that just because she was human didn't mean this lady spoke English. Not everyone in the colonies did, though the number of people who retained and used their native Earth tongues was diminishing rapidly by the year. English was considered the universal language of the human race now. Still, she appeared old enough that it was possible she'd been born on the homeworld, unlike Pheist.

"Likewise," came the simple response as the woman eyed her up slowly. It wasn't as menacing as the looks the Yautja in the halls - and probably here, if she minded to notice - had given her, but Pheist still sensed it was an appraisal. "Heard some of the others mention you, though."

"Others?" Did she mean there were more humans on board?

The woman gestured and Pheist glanced around, puzzled.

"You can speak to them? Understand them?" She could communicate with Riot in a primitive way, mostly through body language, but it was far from ideal and he ignored her half the time. The cell phone would have been great if only he was better able to utilize the keyboard. She hadn't imagined learning his language might be an option.

"I get by."

Pheist waited, but the woman didn't elaborate. She seemed to be studying Pheist and her posture was not open or inviting despite the fact they were possibly the only two of their kind on the ship. Clearing her throat uncertainly, Pheist decided to take a seat regardless. She needed information.

"I'm Pheist," she supplied to start.

The woman snorted in response. "Here you're just pyode amedha. Soft meat."

"Right." Pheist was aware of the term, though not in its original form. "Do you prefer #1 or #2, in that case?" If she wanted to play aloof, that was fine. Pheist was looking to have her hand held.

This tugged up a corner of the woman's broad mouth. She shook her head a little. "Jameson, Lola."

"Pleasure, I'm sure. How'd you wind up here, Lola?"

"Long story." Lola looked beyond Pheist briefly and Pheist noted it was Riot who'd caught her attention. He had chosen an empty table not too far away to sit at and was eating. "It true you killed two of 'em?"

Pheist blew out a slow breath as she turned her focus back to her new and tentative friend. "Guess so. Not alone. Not the first, anyway." The events of only three days prior felt as though they'd happened a lifetime ago to someone else entirely at this point.

"Saved a pup?"

"No. Saved? No." Stumbled across it, more like. "I just… found it. Hid it in a closet. Wasn't sure what else to do." She could still see the fury in Jones' eyes, the condemnation.

"What happened on that ship, Pheist?" Lola's gaze had hardened again and Pheist could tell the way she answered this question would determine whether they were going to be allies or enemies.

"Slaughter. It was…" Pheist grimaced as the images replayed. "Bad. It was bad. Everyone was dead by the time I got there. Except the one… They were unarmed. We were told it was a Hunting cruiser." That hadn't prevented her people from firing on the females and their young, however. Someone on the bridge had to have known. Had to have given the go ahead.

"Know why he brought you back here?"

"Riot?" Pheist glanced to him. "No idea."

"That what you call him?" Lola sounded amused.

"Yeah, well, we didn't really exchange names." Or maybe he had told her his. Wasn't like she would have understood him. "Do you know what it is? His name?"

"O-T'ih'ka." Lola laughed at Pheist's expression. "Takes some practice. Oh-Tah-Ee-Kah."

"Thanks, but I'll stick with Riot." She couldn't fuck that up.

"Why Riot, anyway?"

Pheist lifted a shoulder. "He has a sense of humour. At times. When he's not being an ass." She wrinkled her nose at the explanation. "It was that or Jester."

"And he preferred Riot?"

"Didn't ask him." It was her turn to study Lola now, trying to decide how far to trust the other woman. They shared a genetic code, but they were complete strangers. "How'd you learn their language?" she asked, instead of revealing Riot's ability to understand English in its written form. She wanted to know how he'd learned, who it was who had taught him - was the answer sitting right in front of her? She assumed Lola could read. The woman seemed educated, if guarded.

"You pick up some things when you've been here long enough."

Pheist couldn't tell if she was being purposefully vague or if this was just the way she spoke. It seemed more like the former.

"And how long is that?"

"Long enough," Lola repeated, not giving an inch.

Definitely cagey.

"Look, you don't know me - I get that. Don't trust me if you don't feel like you can. But I'm working in the dark, here. And I'd really appreciate an assist. I don't know why I'm here or what's gonna happen to me." It wasn't a plea, more an appeal to Lola's common decency.

It took a moment, but eventually Lola eased back in her chair. "They use some sign language. Usually only out on the hunt so they don't give themselves away to their prey."

Pheist did her best to digest this information by focusing on the relevant part and not on the word 'prey' even though she knew it could and had described her kind on numerous occasions. "What kind of sign language?"

"Hand gestures mostly. It'll be easier for you to learn than their language. We can't make half the sounds they can."

Nodding her understanding, Pheist set her hands on the table. "Show me."

Lola snorted again. "Never said I'd teach you."

"Never said you wouldn't, either."

"Anyone told you your name suits?"

"Only the ones who don't know it's spelled P-H-E-I-S-T."

"Your ancestors too uppity for F's, were they?"

"Something like that." Pheist flicked her fingers impatiently. "Ready when you are."


	7. 7

"One more time."

"I'm tired."

"I hear that's normal for old people. One more time."

"Watch it or I tell everyone in here you think their mommas are fat."

Pheist's brow drifted upward. "Is that what passes for an insult around this place?"

"The females run the show. No one says shit about them." Lola shot her a look which said she was questioning the wisdom of teaching her the hand signals she'd just spent the better part of the day showing her.

Pheist shrugged. "Noted." Humans hadn't encountered many female Yautja in the past. That she was aware of, anyway. She was beginning to suspect her knowledge on the subject was a joke, however.

Lola stood up and stretched, several audible cracks accompanying the movement. She stepped away from the table as Pheist rose. "You're never going to last here, you know that, right?"

"Why not? You don't find my company delightful?"

"That. Right there. O-T'ih'ka might find that entertaining, but he's the exception. Not the rule." Lola looked over to where said Yautja yet sat, his food long since finished. He met her cool gaze with a grumble and squaring of his shoulders. "Watch out for him."

"Riot? Why?" Pheist was perplexed by this warning. While she implicitly understood he was far from harmless, Riot hadn't made any threatening overtures towards her apart from manhandling her a little when she failed to obey him. What did Lola know that she wasn't saying? Lots, to be sure.

"No. Watch out _for_ him." Lola's stare returned to her. "Like I said, he's not like the rest…"

"What's that mean?"

"It means don't make more trouble than you already have by being here. Curb the attitude. Don't piss off the others." Lola paused, as though trying to decide if she wanted to go on. "He's Blooded, but he's young. Plenty of the fellas would love to see him fail."

Pheist frowned. She'd considered that some or all of Riot's playfulness may have stemmed from immaturity. "Fail at what?" she asked.

Spreading her fingers, Lola sighed. "Life, kid. It's a constant struggle around here. For power, for glory, for recognition. Everyone's climbing the ranks, always. So don't fuck it up for him." That said, she strode from the mess, her gait ever so slightly off.

Turning slowly, Pheist faced the table Riot was seated at. His head was inclined, as though he too had watched Lola's departure. She mulled over the other woman's words as he got up and his golden eyes fell onto her again. He chuffed softly, and then again louder when she didn't rouse herself from her thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah…" Far from being actually annoyed by the summons, Pheist found the call pleasing somehow. It was nothing more than a gentle expulsion of air, but coupled with his currently calm yet curious demeanor, it was endearing. Generally Riot was impatient with his expectations of her, but he'd sat silently at a nearby table for what must have been hours that day while she'd spoken with Lola.

Making her way over to him, she hesitated a moment before signing her first message. It was simple, but important.

_Thank you._

Well, that wasn't a precise translation. Lola had explained that most hand gestures had several meanings depending on the context in which they were used. Which had the advantage of meaning less signals for her to remember, but the certainty that she'd probably mess them up.

Gratitude, was what the one she'd used was supposed to convey.

Riot regarded her with a soft click and then responded, his own hands curving and gliding much more fluidly through the motions.

_No eating._

Wait. No.

_You no eat._

_You never ate,_ Pheist finally deduced. This was difficult. But better than emphatically pointing at things and willing him to understand. She thought about the easiest way to answer and settled on a shrug. Her brain hurt from so much learning and memorizing. And probably lack of sustenance.

Riot chirped at one of the passing smaller Yautja and sat down again. 'Aseigan. Lola had described them as being unfit or unworthy of pursuing positions of prominence among their kind either as a result of poor breeding or of failures to achieve adequate status on the part of one or both parents - though she'd also expounded in a rare moment of candidness that these males or females usually did not reproduce. So, instead of hunting or learning a skilled craft, these 'lesser' Yautja were relegated to serving their betters in exchange for the protection and provisions of the clan.

Pheist had noted that the more diminutive 'aseigan never raised their eyes above waist level and seemed to slink about, avoiding any interaction which extended beyond the task at hand. They neither acknowledged each other nor their more impressive counterparts as they delivered meals and cleared them away. The one Riot had singled out hastened away without preamble.

Sitting opposite him, Pheist repeated her gesture of gratitude.

This time Riot merely grunted.

Well, Lola had warned her it wasn't a symbol which was often made use of.

Pheist spent some time thinking before she tried again. Her fingers felt clumsy as she attempted to recall and form the correct gestures.

_What is my purpose?_

_Eat. Heal._ Riot's tusks ticked contemplatively. _You kill._

Brows drawing down, Pheist held a breath. _I kill?_

_Kill Hunters. Kill human._

When she continued to stare at him without comprehension, Riot grumbled.

_You kill. With me. We hunt._

Pheist felt her blood run cold. _Hunt what?_

_Prey._


	8. 8

"How the hell did you take down two?" Lola questioned, laying the skepticism on thick.

The kehrite, as she'd informed Pheist the circular room was called, was large enough for several pairs of Yautja to spar without risk of interfering with one another. She, as it turned out, was the exception.

The floor and walls were padded, but after being launched into them a dozen times and counting, that didn't prevent ones body from starting to complain. And Pheist's body was doing so. Loudly.

Rolling to her stomach, she pushed herself up with a fleeting sense of relief that at least this time she hadn't been inadvertently flung into the rings of any of the other pairs who were testing their mettle. She had no desire to be stepped on again and they didn't seem inclined to stop for her to scurry to safety.

"I told you; the first was injured, and the second beat the ever living shit out of me." She'd been glad of the familiar face at first when Riot had led her here, but she was quickly coming to the conclusion Lola was only there to satisfy her curiosity.

Snarling at her divided attention, Riot pointed for her to rejoin him in their little circle of torment.

Pheist knew he was frustrated with her performance thus far, but the guy was relentless. She hadn't managed one hit on him yet. Of course, she was still uneasy with the fact the combisticks they were wielding were far from blunted practice instruments. When she'd pointed that out, Riot had seemed puzzled, and Lola had seemed to take pleasure in explaining that Yautja did not make use of blunted anything. Weapons were brandished with deadly intent no matter the occasion.

 _I'm tired_ , she signed as she bent to snatch up her combistick and trudge back into the ring. She could see Lola smirk from the corner of her eye.

Riot spread his mandibles and took a step towards her, his movements filled with agitation as he jerked the weapon from her grasp.

Humiliation filled her, but her side stung as though a hundred tiny needles were jabbing it and she had no doubt the scab that had formed over the burn was broken. Her head also throbbed from the exertion. It hadn't exactly stopped throbbing since that helmet shattering headbutt the Yautja had delivered. Still, Pheist knew she was a disappointment to him in that moment. Respect for her resilience on the cruiser had been what had prompted him to spare her, she was convinced of that, and that wasn't what she was showing him now. She was showing weakness, and Hunters did not value that.

_Wait. Again._

Riot growled, evidently done with the session, and her hand darted out to arrest him before he could turn to leave, landing on the back of the one now holding her combistick. The tendons stood out as he gripped the shaft, and she could feel the rigidly coiled power there as his fingers tightened, knuckles bulging. His hide was smooth yet lightly pebbled, except where scars marred the surface, reminders of past battles and of his lethal nature.

_Again._

She should have been expecting the sweep of his arm, that he wouldn't simply relinquish the combistick, but it caught her off guard. Managing to avoid losing her balance as she stumbled backwards, Pheist threw up a block to catch the staff he swung at her. At this proximity the serrated tip was extended too far to be of use, but the shock of the impact had not even finished shooting up her arm when she heard the by now familiar sound of the combistick snapping into its more compact form. She threw herself into a roll to give herself some space before Riot could capitalize on this advantage. Well, he had all the advantage, with both weapons while she was empty handed. But he was larger than her and needed more room to maneuver. She had to find a way to exploit this semi-weakness, as it was the only one she could see that he possessed.

His feral golden eyes had no trouble tracking the movement, but she regained her feet while he was still pivoting to give himself the angle to bring the combistick to bear against her again.

Pheist slammed a kick into the back of his knee, knowing it wouldn't likely buckle his leg, but hoping for some imbalance - a stagger even. She suspected the blow hurt her booted foot more than it did his unprotected joint, but he did falter ever so slightly.

Enough. It had to be enough.

His attack had been checked as the knee bowed and he forced it to straighten up to bear his weight again nearly immediately.

She knew it was a dirty move, but she was unarmed and as much as she wanted to believe Riot would not have allowed either of those blows to do any real damage had he landed them on her, she also knew she needed to treat this seriously. He said he wanted to train her; to protect herself, but more than that to be a worthy adversary - to be someone he would Hunt beside. That required that she use any and all tools or opportunities she was presented with. And so in the fraction of a second that he was recovering, she launched herself onto his back and curled her fingers around two fistfuls of the dangling black tubuals she supposed constituted Yautja hair.

Riot's reaction was both prompt and terrifying. The bellow of outrage which left him was almost enough to stun Pheist into dropping to the floor and curling into the fetal position. However, she'd anticipated he'd be upset after witnessing his response when the pup had latched onto one of the sleek locks. When one of the combisticks clattered to the ground and his talons raked back over his shoulder to either snatch her off his back or tear her to bloody ribbons, she released her fleshy handholds and snatched up the abandoned weapon.

As he whirled to face her, Pheist swallowed and held her ground against the seething look of infuriation he pierced her with. From some corner of her consciousness which was not screaming at her to get the fuck out of there, she could hear Lola chuckling.

Bitch.

The combistick barely extended in time to counter the assault Riot launched against her with vicious intent. Each time the two weapons clashed together, Pheist felt her entire body jolt with the impact. Her human arm was trembling and she pushed every ounce of focus into keeping up with the series of slashes, feints, and jabs as he backed her steadily to the edge of the ring. If she kept giving ground she was going to wind up backed into the wall. She couldn't win this way. He was stronger, he had more stamina. This pace wasn't taxing for him at all. He could probably keep it up for hours.

Ducking beneath a slice, Pheist danced sideways a few steps so that her back was at least no longer to the wall. She needed room and time to think.

Something hard plowed into her back, taking her between the shoulder blades, and the unexpectedness of it coupled with the pain brought her to her knees. The combistick rolled away from her limp fingers as she gasped in precious air which had been expelled from her lungs with the force of the blow.

Riot towered over her. He roared, the added assault on her senses not one she needed right then, but at the same time his ferocity didn't seem to be directed at her.

There was an answering snarl from somewhere behind and suddenly all hell broke loose. Pheist could only wheeze weakly and throw her arms over her head to attempt to protect herself as the two Yautja collided in a flurry of steel and claws.

" _MOVE_ , idiot!" Lola shouted.

Indignation at the fact the woman had been laughing at her only moments ago helped to fuel her limbs into motion. She half crawled and half lunged out of the path of the battle, staring at the pair as they grappled with flared mandibles and gnashing tusks.

Riot's opponent was his equal in stature, but it wasn't long before his tawny hide began to bear the evidence of his mistake in challenging the other. Gouges on his forearms from Riot's talons oozed phosphorescent blood. The Hunter managed to disentangle the shortsword he wielded from Riot's combistick and drove the tip into Riot's flank. Rather than earn him any leverage, however, the wound only served to incense Riot further. He twisted his body away, at the same time bringing the shaft of the combistick down onto the hand gripping the sword with a sickening crunch. The tawny Yautja howled in anguish as the blade fell from his slack fingers.

Pheist glimpsed the protrusion of a gleaming white bone from his wrist a moment before Riot discarded his own weapon and proceeded to beat his challenger into submission with nothing more than his fists. She stared in equal parts fascination, horror, and respect at the rippling play of muscles beneath his sable hide as he relentlessly pounded on the other until the Hunter lurched and went down.

Standing over him, Riot bellowed his superiority down into the face of the broken and beleaguered Yautja one last time. His chest heaved, though from exertion or exhilaration, Pheist had no idea. He continued to glower down at his defeated opponent until the other drew his mandibles together tightly and averted his gaze in deference.

Watching as he retrieved both his combistick and hers, she felt alarm replace the abstract numbness that had fallen over her when he stalked to the door.

Was he still disappointed with her? Maybe the hair pulling had been too much.

Pheist glanced around at the five other Yautja in the kehrite, all of whose gazes rested on her, cowering on the floor.

No wonder Riot was disgusted with her. She hadn't even noticed that Hunter behind her, she'd been oblivious.

Lola was conspicuously absent, and Pheist didn't know if she was relieved by that or not. She didn't trust that the other woman wouldn't be gloating right about now.


	9. 9

**Action sequences are difficult to portray at times, but I have done my best to make them realistic without becoming too 'wordy'. Some imagination is required. Pheist is approximately a foot and a half shorter than Riot (and most Yautja) and I try to bear that in mind in all scenes in which they interact physically. If I mess up at some point, I apologize.**

* * *

A gentle noise brought Pheist's attention back to the door. It had opened, presumably to allow Riot out, but it had also failed to shut again. She held her breath, hoping she hadn't invented the sound in desperation, but it came again.

Louder this time. More impatient.

Climbing to her feet, she headed in that direction, holding her chin up despite the five pairs of eyes which followed her across the kehrite. She felt like a sack of shit, but she was worried about showing more weakness than she already had to them.

The Yautja Riot had bested sat up, his gaze far more heated than any of the others. Pure loathing seethed from his very being as he watched her, one of his lower mandibles broken and dangling by a sinew, his injuries already swelling grotesquely as they dribbled blood. He snarled, and Pheist knew it would not be the last time they crossed paths.

She walked out into the hallway, buoyed by the sight of Riot standing there waiting for her.

He turned and led her to the lift which would take them down to the level his quarters were located on and was silent the entire way back.

Something told Pheist it was best to give him the time and the space to cool down, so she followed without protest.

Carrying the two combisticks to the shelving which held his armor, Riot stowed the weapons. He then disappeared into the wet room, and knowing his predilection for cleanliness, she sat on the edge of the bed to wait her turn in the shower. The water was as scalding as ever, but she'd convinced herself she was growing accustomed to it. It wasn't long before he returned, and though all traces of his adversary's blood had been washed away, his own yet leaked from the penetration to his hip.

While she wasn't sure she was used to the temperature of the water the Yautja seemed to enjoy, Pheist _was_ used to the fact they didn't seem to believe in towels. Or, more likely, they saw no need, as the ambient heat on the ship soon saw them air dry. She scooted off the furs and past Riot's nude form before her eyes could wander further.

In the wet room, door closed, she hung her smartweave by the door after a cursory inspection to ensure it hadn't been damaged. The patch which had been applied when Riot had seen fit to return the garment to her that morning seemed to be holding up well. It didn't integrate with the rest of the material, as that area failed to cool her skin in response to the higher than normal temperature of the cruiser, but whoever had affixed it had managed to repair the suit so that the rest of it functioned as intended. So, she wasn't sweating buckets just walking around. Which was nice.

After a quick rinse, which was all her tender side could endure, Pheist opted for the robe. It fit more loosely and offered breathing room for the burn. She tugged the scrap of fabric she'd cut from the sash to tie up her hair free and was still combing her fingers through the tangled mess when she walked back into the bedroom.

To her dismay, Riot was in the middle of doctoring his own wound. He stood beside the shelving which housed his armor, a jet injector poised above his thigh. Sinking the needle into his flesh, he depressed the trigger, then calmly set it back into a kit which seemed to have ejected from his vambrace.

From what she'd been told, which she now understood had been a very skewed narration, Yautja did not make use of painkillers. Nevertheless, she assumed the shot had been medication of some nature, perhaps to ward against infection. As she watched, fingers caught in her snarled tresses, he plucked out another tool. She was still working out what it did when he pinched together the edges of the injury and placed it against them, squeezing.

The peculiar yowl that left him was not a sound he'd made before, but one Pheist had no trouble discerning indicated pain. Because the blade had entered his left flank and, she noted with some amusement, Riot was predominantly right handed, he had to contort himself considerably to reach. It was obviously an awkward task for him, and she found herself wincing in commiseration as the second staple clamped the severed hide together.

"Here," she said, stepping forward and wrenching her hands from her hair. She suspected she'd made it worse than it had been if anything. She waited for him to look to her before signing. _Let me._

Ignoring the offer, he turned his attention back to what he was doing.

Pheist wrinkled her nose when the tool was removed to reveal the third staple had barely caught one edge of the laceration. She was no medic, but even she could tell it was probably going to tear free.

"Riot…"

When he failed to acknowledge her, she reached out for the staple gun.

Spinning away from her, Riot growled in warning. Of course, the abrupt movement had done just what she'd anticipated and the third staple was now useless.

"Look what you did, dumbass." Pheist pointed out the result of his obstinance and then held her hand out for the staple gun again.

His golden eyes flickered briefly to the injury before returning to her. He clicked slowly, and she was again struck by the sense he was leery of her for some reason.

 _Let me help._ She wanted to assure him she wouldn't hurt him, but she doubted he would react well to her insinuating he was afraid of her. And she didn't think that was it, anyway. It wasn't fear. It was distrust.

Eventually Riot did pass the tool to her. He was still as she bent down and examined his handiwork.

The first two staples seemed fine. But the third had to go. It was in the way. Pheist eased the hooked end back through his hide as gently as she could, aware of his rigid stance and the way his gaze tracked her every movement vigilantly. She flicked it onto the shelving, rolling her eyes at his rumble of disapproval, and then squeezed the wound closed.

"Here goes, big guy."

Fastening the staples swiftly, she did her best to keep them evenly spaced, hoping an even dispersal of the tension would promote the best and quickest healing. But what did she know.

For his part, Riot stiffened, the muscles in his thigh growing hard as granite as she worked, but he refrained from eliciting any further noises of distress.

When she had finished, Pheist ran her fingers along the edges to feel for any pockets of air or blood. Satisfied, she straightened and held the staple gun up to him.

_Done._

Riot grunted and took the tool, returning it to the kit with the jet injector. He didn't make as much use of the sign language as she'd hoped, but she didn't know if that was because he had no desire to communicate with her specifically or if he was generally unsociable. She hadn't witnessed him interacting with many other Yautja and all of those encounters had been short and not particularly chummy. He even seemed to be quartered down on this level, alone. There were never other Yautja in the hallways down here. Only on the upper levels.

 _I was slow._ She tried again to draw him out, and pointed upwards, to indicate the kehrite. _Bad._

 _You heal still._ His gaze raked over her. _Hurt again._

 _Hurt again?_ She mimicked the gestures and cocked her head.

Riot stepped in and reached around to touch her back lightly in explanation.

 _Not hurt_. Pheist fumbled for the correct signs in the shadow of his massive body. The interspersed mottling of his hide was more visible this close up, even under the dim red heat lamps. _Small hurt_. _Not bad._ She settled on, embarrassed by her complete inability to dredge up anything more.

His hand remained behind her, and she realized belatedly that he was doing something with the ends of her hair. The small tugs against her scalp were barely noticeable. It almost felt like he was rolling the strands between his digits. His head had tipped sideways a fraction and his gaze seemed to rest on her crown, as though he were puzzling out what purpose her hair served.

Well, if he was taking liberties, she didn't see why she couldn't.

Lifting her own hand, Pheist was careful to keep the motion slow. She grazed the tip of one black tubule and held her breath as his own ministrations ceased. When a moment passed and he remained still, she repeated the soft touch, and then dared to raise her fingertips higher. Again, she was taken by the suppleness and warmth of the appendages. Both metallic and what appeared to be bone beads had been clasped around some, etched with intricate symbols.

"Sorry for pulling on them earlier," she mumbled without any real expectation he would understand the apology, but feeling the need to voice it just the same. Clearly they were sensitive. She was somewhat gratified he was indulging her exploration after what she'd done, but she didn't want to test his tolerance too much. Drawing back, she glanced up to gauge his mood.

Riot's mandibles had tucked together firmly, an expression she'd noticed by now usually denoted passivism or appeasement. She rather thought it was more a sign of discomfort this time. His posture appeared strained, as though allowing her caresses had taken a great deal of self-control.

Pheist frowned. That wasn't at all what she'd intended. _Hurt you?_

He signed in the negative immediately and turned away from her.


	10. 10

Pheist was awoken by a firm shake. She opened her eyes, blinking compulsively in the darkness to adjust her vision and bring things into focus.

Riot's calloused but warm hand was still gripping her shoulder and to her disgruntlement he gave her one last jostle before releasing her. He signed something, but both her befuddled mind and the lack of sufficient lighting made it impossible to decipher.

"What?"

It did not feel like she'd gotten a full night's rest. At all.

Instead of repeating the hand signals, Riot grasped her arm and pulled her bodily from the comfort of the plush furs.

"Really?" she complained, uncaring of the whiney note to her voice as he propelled her out through the door as it opened. The halls were as vacant as ever on the way to the lift, but far from pondering where he was taking her, Pheist was busy knuckling the sleep from her sockets. She felt them rise to a higher level and it was enough for dread to knot her stomach at the thought of facing the torrent of Yautja outside in her current state. However, when the lift came to a stop and the door slid across, she was perplexed to see corridors as empty as those they'd left behind.

Striding out silently, Riot led her along a route which seemed vaguely familiar, but she wasn't expecting for the kehrite to be the room he entered.

He hadn't actually hauled her up here to train, had he? _Walking_ was a chore at the moment, nevermind fighting.

She'd just refuse.

He could bellow and rage all he wanted, if she attempted to wield a pointed object just then, she was more likely to impale herself than him.

"Look, I have no fucking clue what time of day or night it is, but I'm not…" Pheist trailed off as he continued across the padded floor towards a second door. She scowled at his back, but knowing he wouldn't stop, she hastened in his wake.

Beyond the door was a narrow but long passage with what appeared to be storage units built into one wall. Lockers for the personal belongings of kehrite users, she assumed?

Riot headed for the opposite end of the passage, where yet another door awaited. The moment it opened a wall of sultry air hit them. Steam wafted out, heavy with heated moisture. Walking directly into the humidity, he of course seemed supremely unaffected.

Pheist could almost swallow the first breath of that air, it was so thick. She followed him through the doorway, sweat already beading up on her skin beneath the robe, and took in the several recessed circular pools of bubbling water which ate up the majority of the available floor space inside. She hoped the roiling was a result of jets beneath the surface and not the fact the water was boiling if this place was what she suspected it was.

Proving her theory, Riot shucked his loincloth without preamble and stepped down into the nearest pool. He lowered himself onto what must have been a ledge for seating and leaned back against the edge.

"So you woke me up to have a soak?" She knew she sounded petulant, but everything was sore and she was positive even if it may not have alleviated that, more sleep would have at least improved her mood.

His response was to chuff in invitation, which she'd been expecting at this point.

"I'm not getting in there, it's too hot." If the shower was anything to go by, Pheist didn't anticipate a comfortable temperature, jets or not.

Riot lifted a hand from the water to sign with. _Good for hurt._

Not hurt, injury, she decided. Lola hadn't taught her a gesture to indicate temperature, unfortunately. She sidled over to the pool and dipped a bare toe in since he hadn't given her time to acquire footwear.

It _was_ hot. The question became more whether she wanted to voluntarily brave the water or have Riot drag her in, as she had no doubt he would if she continued to decline. With a sigh, she swept her gaze around once more to ensure they were indeed alone before peeling the by now clinging robe off. She tossed it towards a bench next to the door and stepped down into the pool. Slowly - ever so slowly - in spite of the way his eyes were fixed to her naked body, she eased beneath the surface of the churning water. She'd never read sexual interest in his looks and couldn't see a reason there would be any. She was smaller, frailer, and much less impressive than him or any other Yautja, females included. She sensed curiosity from him whenever he did pay particular attention to her or a certain part of her anatomy. Intense curiosity, to be sure. But nothing more.

Sucking in a pained breath, Pheist waited for her skin to acclimate to the burning sensation. Her side was lanced with white hot tendrils of agony at first, but before long it ebbed away to the recesses of her awareness. In fact, apart from the flush of the almost unbearable temperature, all other discomfort faded.

 _What…_ She searched for the signals. _What is in here? For pain?_

Riot, helpful as always, shrugged.

Before she could press him further, a smaller door at the back slid open and an 'aseigan entered. The slight female, Pheist speculated, went to a cabinet and took out several vials of varying shapes and sizes. She then approached their pool, eyes downcast, and kneeled behind Riot. Removing the cap from a few of the vessels, she poured the liquids into her palm and coated both hands before sinking them into his mass of tubular growths.

Astonished, Pheist could only stare as the 'aseigan worked through the appendages in a slow and methodical manner. The fragrant smell of whatever it was she was using wafted across the pool, the smokey yet fresh aroma not altogether unpleasant.

Riot's eyes soon drifted shut and a low rumble began within the deep cavern of his robust chest. As it grew, the reverberations created ripples in the still areas of water nearest him.

For some reason, even though she wasn't the one receiving the massage, Pheist found the quiet efficiency of the female's ministrations mesmerizing. She propped her arms on the lip of the pool and laid her head atop them, content to watch and to allow whatever witchcraft or drugs gave the waters their numbing effect to soothe away her aches.

It did occur to her that, being attached to the kehrite, these pools probably saw a lot of attendees during the day cycle. Which was why, she presumed, Riot had woken her at this god awful hour to bring her here. Either he didn't enjoy the company of others, which she was already suspicious of, or he'd known she wouldn't play along if there were numerous other Yautja lounging around in the buff and watching her.

Pheist recalled the way he'd sat at a table alone the entire time she and Lola had been speaking. And then there was Lola's warning itself, that he wasn't like the rest.

Was he some sort of pariah?

He looked like any other Yautja. Lola had said he was Blooded. And Pheist certainly hadn't noticed any physical shortcomings when he'd battered the Hunter who'd taken the cheap shot at her in the kehrite. Even after taking a wound he'd dominated his equal sized opponent with fervor.

Her musings were interrupted when the door at the back opened yet again. A second female 'aseigan appeared. Like the first, she went to the cabinet to retrieve a handful of vials of the scented oils before making her way to the pool. Unless the two were planning to tag team Riot, Pheist had a feeling she was meant to be the subject of this one's attentions, and she wasn't certain what to think of that.

Said brawny Hunter was still obliviously purring away in a boneless heap at the other end of the pool.

Pheist raised her head to watch the 'aseigan approach.

Oddly, this one darted a brief glance her way.

Not being yet fully attuned to Yautja facial expressions, Pheist had trouble deciding whether it was curiosity mixed with revulsion or something else which passed over the female's features. It was only there a fraction of a second before the neutral and subservient mask fell back into place. It was, however, enough for her to conclude she didn't want this Yautja's claws anywhere near her eyes or jugular. She pushed away from the edge of the pool as the 'aseigan knelt and raised her hands out of the water.

_No._

A moment passed in which Pheist questioned whether the female knew the sign language or not. She continued to crouch, her focus on the rim of the pool, unmoving. Lola had described it as a form of communication used on the hunt, and since a servant would never fulfill one of those roles, perhaps this one had no idea what she was trying to convey.

Pheist gestured in the negative again, uncertain how else to make herself understood. "Nope, not interested. Thanks anyway, but you're shifty as hell."

This caused a response she wouldn't have expected from the docile 'aseigan. Locking eyes with Pheist, she spread her spindly mandibles and flexed her talons in a vicious threat, all without making a sound.

Pheist understood why straight away. Riot's eyes were closed. If the female drew his attention, Pheist suspected his reaction would not be copacetic. But she wasn't about to let the attempt at intimidation go unanswered. With no other obvious recourse, she kicked backward and sent a healthy splash of water straight into the 'aseigan's face.

This _did_ surprise an audible recoil from the female. She snarled as she leapt up, knocking a few of the vials into the pool.

Riot's answering growl was enough to remind her of her place and of the perils that came with defiance. Snatching up the remaining scented oils, she fled promptly without a backward glance.

When Pheist turned to insist she'd had the situation under control, she noticed the second 'aseigan was also gathering her things and retreating.

Riot had surged to his feet and continued to rumble menacingly until she too was gone.

"Well that was unnecessary," she informed him, signing at the same time. _I can do it alone._

He didn't appear to agree, but didn't reply either.

"Happy endings not complimentary here?" Pheist motioned for him to sit down again as she waded over to where the vials had fallen into the pool. She could touch the bottom near the edges, but only the very tops of her shoulders remained above the water, whereas it barely reached the underside of Riot's pectorals. She rooted around with her foot until she located one and tried to grasp it with her toes to pick it up. There was no way she was putting her head beneath the surface. Not only did she not know what was making her injuries blissfully numb or what it might do if ingested, the water was still hot as hell. Sweat trickled down her temples and neck in rivulets. So she imagined some of those perfumed oils would probably go a ways in covering up the odor of her perspiration. Maybe she could even discover a way to wash her hair with them, or ideally one might turn out to be some form of soap, a substance Riot's wetroom did not possess sadly. Any dirt which might accumulate on his hide probably rinsed off easily with just water and that was why he didn't have any.

Groaning as her latest attempt to reach the vials failed, Pheist started when said hide brushed against her shoulder. She hadn't even noticed him cross the pool.

Riot inclined his head as he observed what it was she was trying to accomplish. He then bent down to retrieve the bottles, evidently not having the same qualms about dunking himself into the water.

Pheist experienced a moment of mortification when she realized he was all but eye level with her nether regions down there. She stepped back, but was hemmed in by the edge of the pool and Riot himself, with nowhere to go.

Fortunately, when he resurfaced, he did no more than hold the three vials out to her. Water sluiced down his body and the freshly oiled tubules gleamed as beads slicked off their repellent coating.

Accepting the bottles, she pivoted and set them on the lip of the pool, all too aware of how close they stood. She uncapped them with fingers which were highly uncooperative and sniffed each, deciding on the one which reminded her of citrus. It was crisp and refreshing and lathered in her wet hands when she rubbed them together, which she hoped was a good sign. Tipping her head back, she did her best to soak her hair without letting anything run into her ears, all the while noting Riot had yet to return to his side of the pool.

He was watching her again with that acute engrossment as she began to work the fragrant liquid through her disheveled mane.

"What?" Pheist couldn't help prompting. "I smell, right?"

In response Riot inhaled deeply, his chest expanding.

Popular belief was that despite lacking anything resembling a nose, a Yautja's sense of smell was highly developed. She'd heard somewhere it was speculated that, like some reptiles, they tasted odors.

The notion that he was tasting _her_ scent made her insides clench. Which was absurd. He'd clearly done so before. But something about the intimacy of being naked in a pool of water with him made the act much more erotic in nature.

When he released the breath, it was with a small rumble she couldn't fathom the meaning of. It hadn't been a growl or a purr, but an odd mixture of both.

Since her hands were otherwise preoccupied, Pheist couldn't ask him what he was thinking, nor did she believe he'd answer if she did. Her pulse kicked up several notches, thrumming in her ears as she tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but his golden eyes continued to bore into her. She had no idea what he found so riveting about her vain attempts to wash her hair. She wasn't doing anything different than the 'aseigan had done to him really.

When her nerves became too frayed for it to matter if she'd succeeded at all, she tilted her head back to rinse the oil as best she could. This, at least, served to break the stifling eye contact.

"We should probably head back." That would be for the best.


	11. 11

Pheist could almost forget her indignation at having her breastplate shoved into her arms and ordered to 'come' when faced with the scene outside the viewport.

Riot had brought her to a lower level this day, down into what seemed like it must be the very bowels of the ship. Few Yautja roamed the halls, but those that did strode past with purpose, sparing her only cursory glances which were still enough to set her heart to racing. He chuffed at her when he noticed she'd stopped.

Propping the not insignificant weight of the piece of armor she was toting against her hip, she freed up one hand to sign with. _Wait. I want to see._

Outside, space stretched on for lightyears, a never ending expanse of obsidian darkness which was interrupted sporadically by the cold illumination of a multitude of stars. She had no idea what part of the galaxy they were in. By her estimation, it'd been over a week since Riot had brought her onto the Yautja cruiser.

Returning to her, he peered out, as though to check what it was she found so captivating. And grunted when he saw nothing of interest, which drew a laugh from Pheist.

 _You're slow._ He jerked a finger in the direction they'd been headed. _Come_.

 _You have no…_ She searched for the correct gesture. On a gamble, she reused the one for 'wait', guessing it might be interchangeable with 'patience'.

Riot's mandibles ticked. _Have many. You're slow._ With that, he prodded her forward, away from the viewport. Demonstrating just how many patience he did indeed have.

Rolling her eyes, Pheist allowed herself to be herded down the corridor. An oversized door slid open to permit a Hunter inside, and to her disgruntlement they followed. The odors of burnt solder and chemicals filled her nose, causing it to wrinkle as she looked around.

Several Yautja stood behind raised platforms throughout the space, some wearing face shields similar to a biomask as they wielded welding units, while others were barefaced and leaning over circuit boards with soldering tools. Various pieces of armor lined the shelves built into the walls behind them, some clearly in need of repair, some appearing untarnished.

Riot went to one of the workstations and the sorrel coloured Yautja manning it raised her head. She looked from him to Pheist and set her instruments down, her vivid green eyes passing over Pheist's form - no, over Pheist's cracked breastplate. She chirped and Pheist took that as invitation to bring her burden over and set it on the table.

"Still kicking, then," Lola's voice carried over the din of the laboring Yautja. She stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, seemingly waiting for something.

Pheist noted what looked like a very human relic of a clunky personalized computer from a bygone era on the workstation closest to her. "Sorry to disappoint." She turned her attention back to the female who was by now making a closer inspection of her damaged armor, but couldn't repress the niggling curiosity over what Lola was doing down here. The computer had to belong to her. But where'd she get something so old? It definitely outdated her.

"Not disappointed. Just surprised."

"Why? You've managed to survive." She wandered down towards the other woman, keeping her steps unhurried. No need to give Lola the satisfaction of realizing her interest had been piqued.

"I'm not like you," was the simple response. "I keep my head down because I like it better attached to my shoulders."

"Or maybe no one here thinks it's worth mounting on their trophy wall," Pheist shot back, bothered more than she should have been by the snipe.

Lola snorted at this. "You're not wrong."

Before anything further could be said or Pheist could get a better look at the obsolete computer, the door opened and two Yautja entered.

Lola's arms dropped to her sides immediately, prompting Pheist to turn to examine the newcomers. One was the moss coloured Yautja she'd encountered outside the medbay. The other stood half a foot taller at least, his hide a deep olive with burnished yellow and russet mottling. Quills sprouted at the highpoints of his face and one of his sizeable tusks was broken off, the uneven stump pierced through with a single barbed ring.

"Who're they?"

"The big one - the one you need to be worried about - is Vechaath. O-T'ih'ka's daddy," Lola murmured. "Other one's his student, Zihrait. Best keep your eyes down and your mouth shut."

Pheist turned towards them, not feeling great about having them at her back. She angled her head downwards, figuring she might as well take Lola's advice on the matter, but watched from beneath her lashes as a fawn Yautja - the one who was probably in charge, she assumed for no other reason than that he was the largest of those working there - stepped forward to greet Vechaath. The two clasped shoulders roughly and then Vechaath's focus shifted to where Riot still stood, waiting to see if her breastplate could be mended.

For his part, Riot continued to observe the female who was now applying a welding tool to the crack, though his mandibles had tightened and his stance was much tenser than it had been before. Pheist got the impression his failure to acknowledge his sire was purposeful and also a facade. No one had to play that hard at indifference if it wasn't fake.

Vechaath considered his offspring for only a moment before he glanced over his shoulder to Zihrait and the smaller Hunter took the cue, moving to another workstation where a complete set of armor was laid out. The pieces were covered in raised symbols and the Yautja in charge and Vechaath soon joined him in giving it the once-over.

"What's the story there?" Pheist risked questioning in hushed tones when it seemed as though she and Lola weren't to be noticed.

"No story. Males don't have anything to do with their young. The females rear them up to a certain point and then they either start training to hunt or they learn some other skill. Everyone's gotta contribute to the clan."

Now that she was free to really look, she could see the resemblance. The mottling stood out far more on Vechaath's hide, but it was the same pattern and colouring Riot's possessed when the limited light hit him the right way and made it visible. And though it had been difficult to tell from the back of the room, it had seemed like their eyes were also similar - Vechaath's perhaps a shade or two lighter.

"Will Riot get that big?" It wasn't exactly a pertinent question, but she couldn't deny Vechaath cut an impressive figure, towering over all the others.

She had a feeling Lola was holding back another snort. "Maybe. If he lives that long. They never stop growing."

"How old's he then?"

"Dunno. Never asked." Lola sounded as though she was done with the conversation, but since Pheist wasn't sure when she'd run into the other woman again, she wasn't about to let the opportunity for information pass her by so easily.

"Where are we headed? Do you know?"

"Nope."

"Come on, tell me _something_ ," she insisted. It was bad enough she had no idea what was coming next, other than that Riot intended for her to hunt with him. But Lola had to know more about the situation than she did. She'd been here a while, even if she wouldn't say how long.

"I've told you lots."

"You've told me shit. Not about anything that matters. What are _you_ doing here, how did you _get_ here? Why's Riot not like the rest? Why does he live apart from everyone else? What does this cruiser do, what's its purpose?"

Before Lola could respond, Pheist noticed Riot approaching them from the corner of her eye. He held her breastplate in one hand, the weight clearly less significant to him than it had been to her as it hung down by his side. It occurred to her that he normally would have just chuffed to get her attention, to call her over, and she glanced towards Vechaath automatically, figuring he was the reason Riot hadn't done so this time.

"Run along now." Lola had turned towards the table the computer sat on, signalling she didn't mean to say more.

Pheist rolled her eyes. "Your timing could be better," she informed Riot as she moved to join him, to which he fixed her with a baleful stare. There were times she felt he understood her more than he let on, but it was probably just that he was learning to read the nuances of her tone and posture, which she supposed differed greatly from a Yautja's. Either way, he angled his body towards the door and grunted, and she took that to mean they were done here.

They had to pass by the workstation Vechaath, Zihrait, and the other had gathered round in order to leave, and Riot kept her closest to the wall as they walked. Vechaath's back was to them, but when she risked a peek, Zihrait's crimson gaze was tracking their route. She wasn't sure what to make of the Hunter. Unlike other Yautja, whose reactions to her had so far varied from bland disinterest to outright antipathy, both outside medbay and now he had shown neither. Instead he seemed to watch her with intrigue. Which evidently did not sit well with Riot, who emitted a low snarl as he turned his head in the other's direction.

This, of course, drew Vechaath's notice. Turning around, his pale golden eyes locked onto them, and Pheist at least took solace in the fact that it wasn't only her who froze, rooted in place. Riot also halted beside her. He dipped his chin marginally and his focus fixed onto a point beyond Vechaath's shoulder, not quite lowering in deference but not directly challenging his sire either. The muted growl continued, however.

When Vechaath's tusks snapped together, the clack seemed to echo around the suddenly quiet room, and she realized with mounting apprehension all work had stopped as the others eyed up the confrontation with wary interest. For an indeterminable amount of time nothing seemed to happen. Vechaath stood regarding his spawn's display, a lack of the same chestnut flecks which warmed Riot's intense gaze lending his instead the appearance of cold detachment. Then he stepped towards them - towards her, Pheist realized - and in a blur of motion Riot's hand shot out, latching onto her elbow with painful force and jolting her behind him. In the same instant the volume and timber of his snarling increased, but was soon drowned out by a richer, more terrifying counterpart.

Pheist's heart leapt into her throat as the noise of the competing growls seemed to fill the air, ricocheting off the plentiful metal surfaces in the room to create a wild and ear splitting cacophony. With no desire for the masculine posturing to devolve into violence, she clasped Riot's wrist with gentle pressure and attempted to free herself from his deathgrip.

"It's alright," she assured him, uncertain whether he could hear her over the din, but needing to de-escalate things. "Everything's fine, big guy. Take it easy." As she spoke, she massaged the rigidity from the taut muscle of his forearm, not knowing how else to soothe him.

Fortunately, it worked. Riot's fingers loosened and she was able to ease out of his grasp.

Carefully, she slipped out from behind the shelter of his body. He hadn't stopped snarling, and she noted his hardened gaze was now flickering between the point beyond Vechaath's shoulder and his sire's more frigid glare. Direct eye contact during a conflict was tantamount to declaring war, as far as Yautja were concerned. Lola _had_ told her that much. Figuring she probably - hopefully - could not make the situation worse, she signed the greeting she'd been taught towards Vechaath.


	12. 12

**Pronunciations from the previous chapter:**

**Vechaath: Vuh-chath**

**Zihrait: Zze-rate**

* * *

" _What do you remember, Petty Officer Pheist?"_

" _Getting blown the hell up."_

_The expression of supreme indulgence the surgeon had worn as he'd accessed her chart via his chip had rankled her for some reason. His eyes lost some focus as he began to read the information he was seeing in his mind's eye._

" _The report your superior gave says you defied explicit orders to stand down and were impacted by incoming ordinance," he paraphrased after a moment, unimpressed if his tone was anything to go by._

" _I'm glad they chose an unbiased source for their investigation then." Was she surprised Jones had failed to include a few pertinent pieces of information? No._

" _I'm just here to put you back together, not take sides in any he said-she said scenarios, but since your clearance to return to active duty relies on not only your physical fitness but also your mental soundness, tell me how you remember the events."_

_Apart from the scar encircling her shoulder where the vat skin which had been grafted over her new arm overlapped her real flesh, she looked normal. Flexing the cybernetic fingers, Pheist blew out a short breath._

" _It was an IED and they were protestors. Not enemies."_

" _So your objection to…" he paused to find the name, "Ensign Jones' report is a matter of semantics?"_

" _No. My objection was that we were there to maintain peace, not hassle civilians for disagreeing with the government."_

" _And the IED came into things how, exactly?"_

" _I don't know. Some of the others started laying a beating on some protestors who got mouthy. Jones' didn't say shit so I told them to fuck off before it turned into a riot. He didn't like having his toes stepped on, I guess." His fist had found its way into her kidney, anyway. She'd still been doubled over in pain when things had turned nasty and the crowd had begun throwing things; garbage, mostly. Even on a man made space hab there was no shortage of that. "We should have fallen back and let things settle down. It wouldn't have gone down the way it did." But Jones was not calling what amounted to a retreat in his eyes._

" _At some point one of those 'protestors' threw an explosive device at your unit, Petty Officer," he reminded her, as though she'd forgotten that part._

" _Maybe. Someone threw it, yeah." Except it hadn't been an IED. It'd been a military grade HE grenade. But she knew better than to insinuate one of their own had deliberately disobeyed orders and brought that type of weapon on a peacekeeping mission instead of the flashbangs they'd been cleared to pack. "Anyway, I was in the right place at the right time. "_

" _That's an odd way to describe a catastrophic wounding."_

" _My unit would probably agree with me." There'd been no thought behind her actions. She'd seen the incoming threat, been able to catch it and lob it back into the air a fraction of a second before it had gone off. The concussive wave had ruined her arm and stopped her heart cold, or so she'd later learned. Fortunately the latter had been restarted and the former had been replaced. But no one else had been injured beyond some ringing ears._

_The surgeon sighed. "You can take up your problems with the report with the higher-ups. Based on the results of your latest PT eval and what I'm seeing today, I'm clearing you to return to active duty. You can go ahead and let whoever's waiting for you at home know to come pick you up, you'll be discharged as soon as I close your file."_

_No one. That's who was waiting for her. And that was when it actually hit her that there wouldn't really have been anyone to give a damn if she'd held onto that grenade a moment longer._

_No one._

_She imagined her mother's face the last time she'd seen it. Sallow despite the pigmentation she'd had stippled into her skin, the permanent makeup which had been all the rage at one time. In Pheist's recollections her mother had always been flawless, her severe beauty immortalized, as though time didn't dare touch her. But lying on the metal slab, stripped of all her expensive jewelry and fine clothing, she'd looked haggard. In death, Pheist had seen a life of luxury and indulgence had left just as distinct a mark on her mother as her own trials in the UAA and elsewhere had left on her. The darkness ringing her eyes, bleeding through the tattooed concealment. Hollowed cheeks. Raised and purpled spider veins creeping up her arms from the lethal overdose of whatever euphoric substance she'd been shooting up last._

_No, there wouldn't have been anyone to mourn her. Not even should her mother have still been alive._

_If there'd ever been an ounce of love inside that creature for her, it had shrivelled up and died long before she had._

The black silence of the room when Pheist opened her eyes drove the panicked fear she _had_ died somehow into her head before common sense prevailed and told her it was simply still the sleep cycle.

She blinked away the fragments of the dream, puzzled over what had summoned those particular memories from the depths of her unconsciousness. Lifting her cybernetic arm, she studied the shadowy outline of the perfect hand, closing the fingers one by one into a fist and uncurling them again slowly. The vat-grown synthetic skin stretched and tightened over the metal alloy knuckles.

A second shadow rose up from beside her, Riot's larger hand capturing her own. Without warning, he pulled it closer to his prostrate form, dragging her across the furs in the process and startling a yelp from her.

"What are you doing?" Pheist hissed into the darkness, though she wasn't certain why. They were the only two in the room, and clearly neither of them was sleeping.

Enigma that he was, Riot didn't answer, instead holding her arm captive in front of his face. Laying on his back, he seemed to be studying it, without much concern for the way she had to prop herself up on her other elbow in order to avoid dangling above the bed.

He'd been wearing his biomask the first time they'd encountered one another, and since it offered an even broader selection of views than her own helmet had, he should have been able to tell her arm was not flesh and bone. So she wasn't sure where this sudden preoccupation had come from.

"Yeah, it's a fake. Mind letting go now?"

Far from obliging, he clicked inquisitively before lifting his head up and proceeding to skim his tusks over her fingers and palm. His mandibles flexed to follow the contour of her wrist as he drew them down along her forearm towards the crook of her elbow.

The synthetic skin didn't possess nerve endings, so all that registered about his touch was that it was light, as pressure sensors supplied the only feeling Pheist retained in that arm. She stared, transfixed by the thorough examination. Maybe the vat-skin was what he found so interesting. Unlike 'real' skin, it had no pores and didn't emit a scent, nor did it contain hair follicles. That was probably perplexing for him.

"If you think that's weird, you should meet an actual synth," she mumbled.

Riot chuffed and released her. His head rested back against the pelts as he settled, offering no explanation for his actions, as expected.

Pheist relaxed down onto her side, still facing him. She couldn't help recalling the way he'd watched her washing her hair in the healing pool. She'd purposefully waited for him to climb out first, and there'd been no mistaking that what she'd firmly believed had been plain curiosity on his part had at some point morphed into obsession of a more carnal nature. But he hadn't acted on it. He'd brought her back to his quarters and left her there and hadn't returned until the day cycle had begun, and since then he'd been his normal obstinate and demanding self. They trained daily, and he was an unforgiving tutor. He expected her to grasp concepts and perfect techniques swiftly. And if she failed, he forced her to repeat the lessons over and over until she succeeded. It was brutal, but it was also similar to the form of 'education' she'd received in the UAA, so apart from her constantly screaming muscles she didn't see much to complain about.

 _Tell me about the…_ She fumbled for a way to describe the books and settled on cupping her hands into the shape of an open one and miming turning the pages and reading. _Where did you get them?_

In response, he growled softly, indicating he didn't care for this line of questioning. Closing his eyes - which surprised her, since he always seemed to wait for her to fall asleep first - he huffed out a long suffering breath.

"Really?"

Assuming this wasn't an evasion tactic most Yautja employed, she once again wondered just how young Riot truly was. Some of his mannerisms bordered on adolescent behaviour. But he was Blooded and he hadn't been _that_ much smaller than Vechaath, who she presumed was somewhat older. Of course, part of that was probably genetics. Vechaath was huge. He'd been bound to pass some of that size, or the potential to achieve it, along to his offspring - right?

Engaging the massive Hunter in conversation had not been her most sane moment, but she hadn't known of another way to prevent him and Riot from tearing into one another. As much as she respected and admired his prowess in the kehrite, she hadn't believed those odds to be in Riot's favour.

Besides, Vechaath hadn't maimed her, so she considered her suicidal impulse to have been a success. He hadn't appeared impressed by her forthrightness either and had stared her down with his spine tinglingly cold eyes until she'd dropped her gaze and Riot had ushered her out of the armory.

Forcing her thoughts back from this tangent, Pheist observed her bedfellow quietly. His chest rose and fell with even breaths and his mandibles had slackened in repose, but she wasn't buying what he was selling. This was an act for sure. For whatever reason, he didn't trust her enough to sleep if he felt she was still conscious and alert. He was always already awake when she woke up, including just now, in the middle of the night cycle. If not for the fact he was the one who dictated when they went to bed each day she would have suspected he didn't require sleep. And he probably didn't need as much as she did. But he had a bed and used it for a reason.

Lamentably for her, the disconcertingly random dream had left her restless. Rolling over, she sat up and pushed her hair back from her face with a yawn. If Riot was ignoring her, she'd just have to find some other way to distract herself. To that purpose, she got up and stretched some of the stiffness from her limbs as she crossed the room to the shelving holding his armor. Hers was still piled on the floor in the corner, but at least it was serviceable now. The reinforced repair that had been made to her breastplate was sturdy looking, even if she hadn't had an opportunity to test it out yet.

Reaching up, she ran her fingers over one of his vambraces, taking in the numerous scuffs, dents, and gouges. Perhaps he was young, but if his armor and his aptitude for combat were anything to go by, he was not inexperienced. He'd killed at least one Xenomorph. The skull decorated his wall, along with various others. Pheist scanned through them, recognizing only two. She frowned at the second, wondering who it had belonged to. Someone Riot had felt was worthy of becoming a trophy.

If she hadn't been so banged up when he'd found her, would he have mounted her skull up there? She already knew it'd been more dumb luck than skill that had helped her overcome that second Yautja. Riot was more cunning, he was a thinker. He wouldn't have underestimated her tenacity the way the other Hunter had. The fact he'd watched the entire series of events while camouflaged instead of charging in to attack her spoke to his battle IQ.

He'd been studying her, even then.


	13. 13

It wasn't a large planet, approximately Mars-sized. The surface consisted of a dismal gray crust stretching for as far as the eye could see, interrupted here and there by craggy mountain ranges which converged and split apart again, lending it the appearance of being stitched together.

Riot piloted them down towards one such mountainous region, setting the shuttle onto the ground with a soft thud which Pheist was most appreciative of. Half the pilots in the UAA wouldn't have managed such a comfortable landing. The running joke had been that the reason their shuttles didn't possess landing gear and instead touched down directly onto their reinforced bellies was because the pilot's had smashed it all to pieces.

"You know you're gonna have to teach me to fly this puppy next, right?"

Glancing to her as he powered the craft down, he grunted.

 _Teach me._ She gestured to the controls.

 _First you Hunt._ He stood up from the pilot's seat and left the bridge, bio-mask thumping her arm from where it was clipped to his belt as he passed. He'd already donned the rest of his armor, and it certainly accentuated the air of menace which clung to him like a shadow. Then again, she'd become accustomed to seeing him in nothing but a loincloth.

Levering herself from the co-pilot's chair, she followed after him, doing her best not to feel impeded by her own armor. She'd been training without it on, and now needed to adjust to the extra bulk. Her salvaged helmet sat under one of the benches in the holding bay where she'd left it, and she retrieved it before joining him at the loading door.

_Can we breathe out there?_

_Little time._ Riot rapped a knuckle against her helmet as he hit the panel to open the door and then put on his bio-mask.

Pheist shoved the mismatched helmet onto her head hurriedly and it affixed to her gorget with a reassuring snap. She hadn't asked where it had come from when he'd presented it to her the day before, informing her the following day they would hunt. It was an older model, that much she knew, but it interfaced with her armor and functioned and that was all that mattered. Not whoever had died wearing it.

The door lowered, revealing the bleak landscape before them, and she pushed any lingering hesitations away. If she didn't focus, _she_ would die wearing the fucking helmet.

Riot started down the ramp, his stride sure, his back straight. She envied him that confidence.

Trotting along in his wake, having to make two or three steps to keep up with every one of his, they set off at a grueling pace. The foot of the ridge they'd landed on sloped upwards gradually at first, but it wasn't long before Pheist was laboring. She'd spotted some winged creatures circling high up over the peak, but they never descended low enough for her to catch much detail other than that seemed large, and Riot wasn't concerned by their presence at all. Which she took as a good sign. Cresting a particularly steep rise, she was shocked to find a cavernous opening into the side of the mountain ahead.

"In there?" she questioned, having switched the comm mode to external so that she could communicate with him more easily.

He chuffed confirmation as his head swiveled to scan the area.

Hand drifting down to the compact plasma pistol holstered at her hip, she toggled through the limited views her helmet offered, but nothing stood out and soon Riot was on the move again. She compulsively checked that her bowie was strapped securely to her thigh and that the combistick was still clasped to her back, the shaft within easy access, and followed. The familiar weight of a rifle in her hands would have made her feel better, but the borrowed pistol packed a punch, she knew, and she'd been practicing exclusively with the combistick for the past couple weeks.

This would be fine. She would not disappoint him.

The mouth of the chamber was at least twenty feet high, but it tapered down fairly sharply as they travelled deeper, until the ceiling wasn't more than a few inches above Riot's head. His plasmacaster scraped some of the lower hanging portions as they passed underneath and he was forced to hunch down with a perturbed rumble Pheist couldn't help finding amusing. Around yet another bend he had to twist sideways, his shoulders too wide to continue walking forward. Still, he remained in the lead, and even though her greater maneuverability would have made her the logical choice to do so she was grateful to him for not suggesting it.

This was an alien planet to her. She wasn't savvy when it came to its atmospheric composition, its climate, its biodiversity, or the inherent dangers contained within any of those. Whereas it seemed safe to assume he had been here before. He knew where he was going, in any case.

Thankfully, for his sake leastways, the end of the tunnel came into sight not much further on. Light spilled into the passage and she quickly switched from night vision, which had seemed most appropriate in the virtual pitch black of the cave.

Riot stepped out, straightening up, but before she could join him a fleet shape blurred past the opening and struck him, the impact sending him lurching back out of sight.

"Riot!" she shouted in alarm at the unexpectedness of the moment. Tearing the pistol from its holster, she hurried to the end of the passage and leaned out from the cover of one rocky wall cautiously.

Already having regained his balance, Riot stood a few paces away, his would-be attacker impaled on one of his wristblades. The black feline-esque beast was still writhing, foreclaws extended towards him and scrabbling against his vambrace but unable to reach any vital targets, while its rear legs kicked wildly through the air.

As Pheist released a relieved breath he continued to hold the creature at arm's length until its struggles slowed and eventually ceased. The wristblade then retracted and it dropped to the ground in a heap, yellow blood pooling beneath it rapidly. It appeared hairless and in addition to the wickedly curved claws, clusters of quills covered its head and back.

Crouching beside it, Riot used his own talon to peel back one of its lips to reveal the fangs inside. _Bad. Make you slow. Die easily._

 _How?_ Pheist leaned in to get a closer look, uncertain what warning he was attempting to impart.

He pointed to one slim incisor in particular, and understanding dawned.

"Venom." It was possible to see the hollow quality of the tooth at this range.

With a grunt, he stood up again and stepped over the corpse, moving towards the dense foliage which ran up to within fifteen feet of the tunnel opening. She imagined the thing had only taken him unawares because, like her, he'd probably been switching from night vision and it had been lurking in the brush, waiting for just such an opportunity. Other animals must utilize the passage, though they hadn't come across any. That she knew of.

Pheist only took a moment to consider the landscape that had opened up before them. Jagged cliff faces soared upwards on all sides and contained within was a vast and verdant forest. They must be i _nside_ the mountain, she realized in awe. If she craned her neck, the sky was visible high above, but barely. The mouth of the crater was heavily crowded with cumulus cloud cover, which she guessed was why it hadn't been obvious when they'd flown in.

There wasn't time for more examination than that, however, as Riot was swiftly disappearing through the plant matter ahead.

They spent the remainder of the full daylight hours trekking through the lush wilderness, pausing often for him to identify different sets of tracks for her as best he could with explanatory signs.

_Big. Slow. Six legs. Plant eater. Prey._

_Small. Fast. Two legs. Meat eater. Predator._

_Small. Fast. Four legs. Meat eater. Killed._ That had to be the feline, Pheist decided, then immediately re-evaluated her estimation of what he was referring to as 'big' and 'small'. That beast wasn't what she would have called 'small'. It'd been at least as large as the tigers she remembered pictured in the files from her elementary school biology course.

It wasn't until they'd located one set of tracks specifically that Riot allowed her to stop and rest. They'd been crossing a meadow when he'd halted abruptly and kneeled down. Sweeping back the purplish brown grass, he'd shown her a single depression in the packed dirt beneath. It had no defining features, no obvious protrusions where digits or claws may have rested.

 _Big. Fast. Eight legs. Meat eater. Predator._ He curled his talons as though to indicate claws. _Big claws. Strong._ He reached behind and mimed what she assumed to be a tail. _Sharp. Will hurt. Make slow._

Great, something else that was poisonous. His next sign made her deflate even more.

_You hunt._


	14. 14

She shouldn't have been surprised to be alone when she woke up. Nor that it was still nearly impossible to see her hand in front of her face without the use of night vision.

Riot had explained that day and night lasted a long time on this planet, which seemed to rotate more slowly on its axis than Earth did, which was in turn the schedule the colonies operated under still.

She gathered that being housed inside a mountain accounted for the fact even when it had at first seemed night was falling, the sky had not fully darkened. The sun had just moved beyond the rim of the crater and cast the entire ecosystem within into shadow. That dim twilight state had lasted some hours before real night had come and plunged everything into pitch blackness.

Pheist toggled through the different sight modes, but she wasn't really expecting to spot Riot out there in the abyss. He'd told her she was meant to hunt the creature he'd described.

 _She_ was. Alone.

The problem was that she knew next to nothing about the damn thing other than a very vague expectation of what it might look like. And that it sounded dangerous. And ate meat ie. her.

Settling back on nightvision, she pushed herself up from the warm ground. The air, whatever it was composed of, was several degrees lower by comparison but certainly not unpleasant. She hadn't attempted breathing it yet - that seemed like a gamble she didn't need to take, even if Riot felt it was okay for a 'little time'.

They'd hunkered down in the meadow he'd pointed out the tracks in, so the logical way to proceed would be to follow them. It wasn't easy. She worked her way tediously through the coarse grass, sussing out an indentation here and there which matched the one he'd shown her. Whatever this thing was, it'd managed to pass through without leaving an obvious trail of parted or trampled vegetation.

At the edge of the clearing the tracks vanished and Pheist spent a good half hour wandering back and forth, hunting for more in vain. The grass had petered off and the ground beyond the meadow was blanketed in a soft lichen-like carpet. She tromped on it experimentally and was miffed to find the moment she lifted her boot it sprang back up to conceal all signs she'd ever stepped there.

"Fucking perfect."

Branches rustled behind her, and she leapt aside, heart in her throat as an immense form came through the leaf cover. It loomed closer, shaggy coat swaying in time with its lumbering gait, emitting a snuffling noise as it did so. It was difficult to distinguish much about it due to the thick and ropey fur, but her nightvision did pick up its eye glare as well as a thick snout, which it swung back and forth as it moved. That was where the snuffling sound was coming from. It was testing the way ahead using scent, she realized. It probably couldn't see any better than she would have been able to without her helmet. The moss cushioned its steps, rendering them eerily silent, which was why she hadn't noticed its approach. She wondered idly if this was the big, slow, six legged plant eater Riot had told her about. She squinted, but couldn't make out how many legs it possessed through its coat.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, Pheist eased back further from its path. Whatever it was, it wasn't what she was supposed to be hunting. There was no tail and it didn't strike her as an agile creature.

Sure would have been sweet for her target to meander right out in front of her, though.

When she judged it far enough away that she wouldn't risk spooking it, she returned to her search. Since these tracks had disappeared she would just have to find another set. Pushing on through the lichen-carpeted area, she couldn't help musing over how she was meant to meet up with Riot if she managed to succeed on her hunt.

When. When she managed to succeed.

It would have been nice of him to specify this before he'd deserted her. Then again, it also wasn't in keeping with his 'do as I say and ask no questions' attitude.

"Asshole," she couldn't help muttering as she ducked under a low hanging branch. The outdated helmet didn't even offer an integrated spout for consuming liquids via the tube constructed into the armor without the need to open the visor, which was impossible to do in the vacuum of space and certain other atmospheres.

Was she thirsty enough to risk the air yet?

It'd been at least ten or twelve hours since they'd set down on the planet, and she hadn't ingested anything in that time.

Stifling another curse - she wasn't alone out there, after all - Pheist reached back and plucked the canteen from her belt. She set her back against the trunk of the nearest tree and popped the lid open before selecting the command to retract her visor from the HUD.

For the first time, the smells of the forest tickled her nostrils, unfiltered by her armor, which drew in the foreign air, purified it of any toxins or harmful gasses, and mixed the appropriate ratio of oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen into it to make it breathable. It didn't burn her throat or lungs, or choke her when she inhaled, so it seemed like Riot had been correct in his assertion. As she took several greedy swallows of water, she tried to decide whether the subtle notes of decaying plant matter and sweetness she sensed in the air were refreshing or not.

A shrill squeal sliced through the muted quiet of the night, and she jerked the canteen from her lips, fingers fumbling across the top edge of her breastplate for the recessed switch to manually eject the visor. The moment it snapped down she panned across her surroundings, sealing the canteen and replacing it with one hand while the other drew the combistick.

It was impossible to detect anything through the densely packed foliage. The squeal had broken off, curtailed as suddenly as it had begun.

Had it been the big shaggy beast? Or was there something else in the vicinity?

Mulling over her options, Pheist decided she may as well double back and check it out. She had nothing else to go on right then, and even if she pushed to the end of the moss covered ground there was no guaranteeing she'd find more tracks. It'd taken Riot a good eight hours to locate the set in the meadow. Assuming that'd been his goal the entire time, she couldn't see how she would fare any better. He'd demonstrated over and over again during their trek just how proficient a stalker he was, spotting all manner of flora and fauna she would have missed.

Combistick at the ready, she retraced her steps through the trees. It wasn't long before her shoulder blades began to itch with the preternatural certainty she was being watched. She imagined Riot out there, following her progress - or lack-thereof - under the cover of his active camouflage.

Let him watch, then. She was going to find whatever monster he'd brought her there to hunt and she was going to kill it.

An image of her presenting him with a bloody skull flitted through her mind's eye.

Had any of the ones on his trophy wall belonged to one of the things she was looking for?

She tried to remember them, and nearly stumbled right into the giant furry rear end of the animal from earlier. Lurching back, she whipped the combistick up in case it had been paying more attention to where she was going than she had and decided it didn't like her proximity to its posterior.

But the thing didn't move. It wasn't even making that snuffling noise anymore.

Giving it a wide berth, Pheist circled slowly to the front end. She still caught eye glare, but it wasn't the alert eye of cautious prey any longer. It was flat. Dead, she decided when she noted the hot liquid trickling from its snout. But how? There were no visible wounds, no signs of a struggle. Not that the long coat wouldn't obscure damage to the carcass, but her thermal didn't detect blood anywhere other than leaking from the nostrils.

A sharp snap had her spinning around abruptly. It had come from a distance, so she didn't expect to see anything. Extending the combistick, she waited. A second snap drew her attention in the opposite direction, followed immediately by a third from yet another.

It could just be more of whatever the deceased shaggy beast was. Maybe they lived in herds.

Her gut felt otherwise. Edging back closer to said dead animal, she squatted down to use it for cover.

If they were more of the same species, she'd beat it out of there and hope they didn't assume she'd been the one to kill their friend. She could probably outrun them anyway. She thought.

Nothing else stirred out in the trees.

Sweeping her head back and forth a few times more, Pheist held her breath to the count of ten before she started around the carcass to check the forest on the other side again. Just as she was stepping over one of the animal's legs - one of six, she noted - the shaft of the combistick jolted in her hands and was ripped free. Her instincts screamed, and not about to question them, she threw herself into a forward roll a moment before something slammed down into the ground where she'd been standing. She drew the pistol mid-somersault, before she even came back up onto her feet, and pivoted on her heel to fire on her ambusher.

The bolt caught the joint of one of the segmented legs which supported the giant insectoid and it hissed furiously, its barbed tail flashing forward again, connecting with her breastplate so hard it sent her sprawling.

From her back on the ground was not how she'd hoped to catch her first glimpse of the creature Riot wanted her to hunt. And there was no doubt this was that creature. The uniform impressions in the dirt made sense now since it moved on eight spider-like appendages, as did the fact it'd not disturbed the grass. Its legs held it high above the forest floor, its body suspended a dozen or so feet in the air and protected by what appeared to be an exoskeletal plating. The curved, wicked looking tail stretched its full body length and half that again, and had arched over top of its body to strike her. Fortunately, the menacing stinger on the tip had clipped the toughest piece of her armor and did not penetrate. If it caught her more vulnerable smartweave-clad body parts, she doubted that would remain the case.

Pheist squeezed off three more blasts in rapid succession, targeting the thing's head since its leg seemed to have fared disconcertingly well against the plasma shot. Eye glare ringed the full way round from front to back, multiple sets of oculi lighting up her nightvision as it skittered sideways. The claws she'd been warned of - more like pincers - wavered before it, and she realized one still clutched her combistick as the other shot out, forcing her to roll again, this time in a wildly pantomimed rendition of what to do when one's clothes catch fire.

Dizzy and pumped up on adrenaline, she scrambled onto all fours and dove behind the dead animal, narrowly avoiding another jab from the stinger which probably would have eviscerated her.

Fleeing was not an option. Not only was that the opposite of what Riot expected from her, there was no way with all those legs propelling it over the ground that she had even a hope in hell of escaping the insectoid. Now, more than ever, she longed for her rifle. A sustained plasma blast would have had much more effect on its hardened shell than the small bursts the pistol was capable of. Or so she told herself.

 _Something_ had to hurt the damn thing.

Her cover - either reanimated or by some other means - chose this moment to vacate the area, leaving her entirely out in the open. Pheist could only stare at what must have amounted to a few tonnes of flesh and stringy fur as it sailed into the canopy and out of sight. She managed to close her gaping mouth and regain her focus in time to fire again on the insectoid as its pincers completed the arc of tossing the carcass aside. One of the bolts plowed into an eye and the orb burst in a spray of vibrant fluid, causing it to rattle noisily in what she hoped was pain.

Great. Only four or five dozen more shots like that and she would blind the thing. Piece of cake.

Without waiting for it to recover, she hammered the trigger as fast as her finger could move - which, seeing as it was her cybernetic hand, was fairly fucking fast - peppering the insectoid with a consistent volley of blasts as she jogged for the nearest copse of trees.

Incensed by this assault, it lashed out with its tail again. The tip flashed just wide of her shoulder, but the main bulk of the appendage then swept sideways, scooping her off her feet and sending her careening into the trunk she'd been aiming to take shelter behind.

Pheist's head cracked against the trunk, her vision swimming for a fraction of a second, and in that fraction her hand spasmed. The pistol slipped from her slackened grasp. She lurched awkwardly around the tree as the stinger streaked in again. It bit into whatever fibrous organic matter made up the base of the tree, sending splinters flying, and withdrew just to repeat the attack immediately from a different angle. She dodged aside, and again the barbed tip hit the trunk, gouging another chunk from it.

Unable to take her eyes off the insectoid to locate the fallen pistol, she yanked her bowie from its sheath. The next time the tail shot out, instead of ducking behind the tree, she threw herself down beneath its trajectory. The barbed tip darted by, close enough to scrape the curve of her helmet, and she drove the knife up in between two of the segments of the exoskeleton.

Hissing in outrage, it whipped its tail back. The stinger hooked in her leg as it backdragged, hoisting her up from the ground and launching her overtop of the insectoid.

She hit the forest floor shoulder first after sailing through the air for what felt like a small eternity and tumbled to a halt, dazed. The hissing and rattling continued, punctuated by sharp snaps as the insectoid attempted to utilize its pincers to pluck the bowie from its tail. The very same snaps she'd heard earlier, Pheist realized as she shook the stupor off and gathered herself, rising to her feet.

Not branches then. It'd been this thing. Taunting her?

Her first step revealed her groin had likely been pulled from the force of being wrenched up by her leg and flung, but she gritted her teeth and cast her gaze around for something she could use to defend herself now that she was empty handed. She heard it the moment the insectoid successfully removed the knife and returned its focus to her.

It hurtled towards her, pinsers raised and poised to strike, all eight legs tearing up clods of lichen as they powered it forward at an alarming rate.

Pheist's eyes locked onto the combistick. It stood upright a few paces away where it must have landed when the insectoid discarded it, serrated head burrowed into the moss. She lunged for it, cybernetic fingers closing around the shaft and jerking it from the ground. Raising it up, she drew her arm back and hurled it with all the strength she could muster.

The insectoid had closed on her with speed and was extending its pincers out when the spear took it amidst its many sets of eyes, nearly all six feet of its extended length penetrating into the head. Its legs crumpled in a disjointed snarl and it collapsed, its momentum carrying it forward a ways before it came to a full stop.

Bending over, Pheist sucked in first one steadying breath and then another, her hands braced on her knees - one trembling, one still. "Whiskey tango foxtrot, Riot," she wheezed irritably, certain he could have selected an easier option for her first hunt, but at the same time begrudgingly pleased he'd believed her capable of this one.

When she no longer felt like her lungs were on fire she straightened up and surveyed her foe, flushing with the righteous glory of victory.

This skull was going on the wall, even if that meant she had to tote it all the way back to the shuttle. On _her_ wall in Riot's quarters.

As if summoned by the thought, said Hunter materialized from thin air only a few feet before her as he disengaged his active camouflage. He strode to the insectoid and took ahold of the combistick protruding from its head, withdrawing it in one smooth motion. He carried it back to where she stood, retracting it and holding it out with a chuff of approval which melted Pheist's insides.

She took the spear and before he could move, closed the distance between them, pressing her helmet to his chest.

He didn't pull away, but neither did he embrace her. Then again, as far as she was aware, Yautja didn't embrace. Not like this, at least. What he did do was far more gratifying. A low rumble built up from deep within his chest, echoing over the comm channel and gently flowing through her. It soothed away the last vestiges of her fight or flight impulse and her heart rate dropped considerably on her HUD.

Leaning back, Pheist tipped her head to look up at him, and he consummated her air of triumph by lowering his own until his bio-mask touched her visor, forehead to forehead.


	15. 15

There was nothing left. Just an empty shell.

Pheist glared at what had been her hard won prize in disgust. She wanted to scream, but she didn't dare lest it call back the voracious fuckers who'd devoured the insectoid from the inside out.

They'd appeared out of the night with about as much warning as Riot had, moving on nimble rear legs which carried them across the moss in leaps and bounds. A full legion of them.

Shocking her, Riot had drawn her back into the foliage and boosted her up into a tree before following her swiftly up into the branches. There they'd remained in silence, watching as the small creatures descended on the carcass and began burrowing in through the exoskeleton with single minded intent. They'd swarmed in, their powerful jaws and stacked rows of needle-like teeth sawing into the hard carapace with ease, disappearing into the cavity of the insectoid's body as they consumed it.

What had been most staggering of all had been how long it'd taken them. All of ten minutes to utterly destroy the beast it'd taken Pheist a good deal longer to hunt and bring down.

When they'd finished, they'd simply flown out of the husk and hopped back into the darkness as though they'd never even been there.

Pheist kicked one of the pincers in frustration and her boot plowed through the weakened shell with a crunch. Even if she tried to salvage the head as a trophy, it'd probably disintegrate before she got it back to the shuttle.

Riot joined her, offering her her bowie and the pistol, which he'd obviously been busy fetching while she'd been sulking. _Come,_ he signed once she took them and freed up his hands.

_Wait._

_We go now._

_Wait. Not ready._

Clicking impatiently, he prodded her away from the worthless carcass, only to have her round on him instead.

"I said I'm not ready, just fucking wait! I killed it! I did that! And now it's gone!" she whispered fiercely, angry but not stupid enough to raise her voice after what she'd just witnessed - especially not given the fact Riot had retreated rather than face the little scavengers.

He snarled at her outburst. _Quiet. We go now. More hunts for you. More prey. Different time._

That shut her up. He'd seen what she was capable of and he approved. He wanted to take her on more hunts. That was what mattered. She'd proven herself. The trophy would have been nice, but even without it she knew what she'd accomplished, and so did he.

Blowing out a puff of pent up energy, Pheist turned to head in the direction he'd been moving her.

They found a place to rest for a few hours - a courtesy to her, she suspected, after her trial with the insectoid - and then backtracked through the forest towards the tunnel which would take them back out onto the mountainside. Riot shared berries and nuts he must have collected while following and observing her and she opened her visor long enough to hungrily consume them and the remainder of the water in her canteen. It didn't occur to her to question whether they were safe to eat, she trusted his wilderness knowledge implicitly.

When they reached the passage opening, the feline he'd brought down the day before was nowhere to be seen. Then again, having become better acquainted with the native species, that didn't surprise her much.

Riot spent a few moments scouting around the cliff face, which she found exasperating now that they were that much closer to the shuttle - to the freedom to shuck her helmet and breathe some unfiltered air she needn't worry was slowly poisoning her.

Striding into the tunnel, she figured he would catch up whenever he was ready. The thought of getting back to the cruiser and to a hot shower was too tempting to dawdle.

Apparently, she'd been supposed to wait. When she heard him approaching from behind, the telltale scrape of his plasmacaster on the ceiling signalling it could be no one else, she found he was not happy. He growled at her and in the confines of the passageway the sound bounced around and was amplified.

"What?" she demanded testily, not sure what his problem was. Maybe he didn't like her taking the lead. Usually she followed him everywhere like a good little soldier. Well. Apart from when she didn't and he dragged her behind instead.

Before he could respond, however, a thumping noise drew both their attention. It echoed down the tunnel from the vicinity of the opening. Riot turned his head, listening. The dull beat increased, overlapped by similar muted thumps until the passage was filled with the noise.

Stooping to see beyond his large frame, Pheist felt her heart leap into her throat at the explosion of bounding scavengers which came around the bend. Their maws chomped in time with their hops to create a wave of glistening fangs bearing down on her and Riot with speed. Snatching her pistol up, she began firing a moment after his plasmacaster, leaning around his body to avoid it. The small creatures were thrown backwards when hit, but for every one which was eradicated, two more sprang onwards.

Grunting, Riot's hand found her shoulder and shoved, urging her to move. The scavengers were closing the distance with unyielding momentum.

With a curse, she spun and rushed away. She kept the pistol out, but with his bulk blocking most of the tunnel, it was impossible to get a backwards shot off.

For his part, Riot continued to fire on the scavengers as he ducked to avoid smacking his head on the ceiling and squeezed around the twists and turns. He drew a smartdisc from his belt and flung it, pausing long enough to be able to catch the deadly projectile once it ricocheted as far as the last corner - slicing through all it came into contact with along the way - and careened off the flinty passage wall, shooting back to his hand. A writhing mess of decapitated and dismembered scavengers littered the floor, but more came on to replace them.

The way began to widen and Pheist pushed herself to run faster despite the shooting pain in her groin, knowing he could outpace her easily in the open. She wouldn't be the weak link. When she threw a look back, however, he wasn't there. Holding up, she raised the pistol, her own ragged breaths inside the helmet making it difficult to hear much else. A knot tightened her stomach as a few beats passed and Riot did not catch up.

He wasn't hurt. They hadn't got him.

She chanted the two statements over and over in her mind as nausea threatened to overtake her.

The ground shuddered as an explosion rang out. A cloud of dust swept out of the tunnel from the direction she'd come, ticking against her visor and obscuring her nightvision.

"Riot?" she called into the ensuing silence.

Nothing.

"Riot!"

This was not happening. This could not happen.

Clenching her teeth against another panicked shout, she started back into the narrowing passage, forcing herself to use caution and not to barrel in. The haze from the debris the explosion had kicked up made it impossible to see. She guided herself using her free hand, feeling along the uneven wall.

Another tremor shook the mountain and Pheist heard a loud, rolling crash from behind. It had sounded like part of the cave collapsed, and she hoped that didn't mean she was now cut off from the shuttle.

Not that she could pilot the damn thing without Riot.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered, toggling through all sight modes, searching for something which offered better visuals than the current one. All of them looked like shit.

Shifting rock matter from somewhere up ahead snapped her focus back to the larger dilemma. She wasn't alone in here. Optimism surged through her, but she tamped it down before she could do anything foolish like call out again. If it was Riot, he'd find her.

It wasn't Riot. One of the scavengers flew out of the gloom, latching onto the pistol - onto her hand, to be more precise.

Pheist swung her arm, smashing the thing into the wall. Once. Twice. Three times before it released her and dropped to the ground, where she stomped it viciously until it stopped twitching. Her luck hadn't run completely out since it'd been her cybernetic hand. Those rows of slender teeth would have done far more damage to her flesh and bone one.

There was more scrabbling ahead. She turned and beat it back the way she'd come, not about to wait and see if what emerged was friend or foe. The tunnel widened again, but a massive cave-in blocked the way out. She could hear the rapid thumping of her pursuers' odd gaits as they followed her. When she reached the swell of toppled rock she launched herself up the first few feet of the incline and fired several plasma bolts backwards blindly as she climbed using her other hand. Scree gave way beneath her boots, making the ascent far slower going than she would have cared for, and she shoved the pistol into its holster to free up her other hand.

The scavengers hit the bottom of the pile like a tsunami and flowed upwards, their lighter mass and muscular rear legs making them more proficient at scaling the loose debris than she was.

They were eating up ground, and above her she could make out the ceiling. There was no gap. The way was entirely blocked by the cave-in. Ripping the pistol out again, she started picking them off, one by one. By some miracle those at the top that she hit knocked others off balance as they fell, sending a good many toppling back down the rock pile. It bought her some time, but not much. Another wave was already leaping their way up from the bottom.

Pheist frantically scanned the walls, the ceiling - searching for another escape route, willing there to be one. She located what appeared to be a crevice and squeezed off two more shots before holstering the pistol once more and scrambling in that direction. She lost her footing more than once as she crawled haphazardly to what she prayed was a wide enough opening for her to fit through. Situated up in the ceiling, she never would have noticed the second passage if she was down on the ground. Stretching up as far as she could, her fingers just grazed the lip.

The scavengers had reached the same level as her by now and were making their way across the cave-in, jaws working in anticipation of a nice snack.

She still didn't know what had happened to Riot. He'd detonated the explosion presumably, but had he done it because he'd been overrun or had it been a calculated move to collapse part of the tunnel and trap the little fuckers? She refused to believe the lethal Yautja had fallen to these assholes.

Squatting down, she gathered herself and leapt up, catching hold of the lip and half-squirming half-shimmying herself into the safety of the passage. Not trusting that the small but tenacious creatures wouldn't find a way to follow, she shoved herself along as best she could without the room to crawl on hands and knees, nevermind stand. The sides pressed in around her, giving rise to a claustrophobia Pheist hadn't even been aware of before now.

There had to be an opening. There would be. This would not be a dead end. It would not become too tight for her to squeeze through. She had not survived that fucking insectoid to die here, stuck inside a tunnel too small to turn around in as one of those scavengers ate her alive starting from the ankles and working its way up.

Extending her arms before her to gain that extra inch or two of wiggle room for her shoulders, Pheist kicked and pushed herself onwards by any means she possibly could. When her canteen broke free from her belt after taking one too many knocks against the ceiling, she ignored it. Next the pistol started digging into the wall and she reached back, barely able to bend her elbow sufficiently to unclip the holster.

That was when she heard them. They were in the passage.

She envisioned them beating their brains out on the shallow ceiling when they tried to hop, but the chances of that happening seemed slim at best.

She hastily detached the combistick as well and shoved both it and the pistol out in front of her as she surged forward again. It was getting difficult to thrust her hips - evidently her widest feature - through the ever narrowing space. The scavengers would not have such issues. They were small enough to maneuver relatively freely through the tunnel.

"I am not dying in here," she insisted, as much to hear anything other than her noisey breathing and the sounds of her pursuers than for any other reason. "I am _not_ dying in here."

If only Jones could see her now. Recalling his hideous purple face when she'd plucked his rifle from his hands on the Yautja ship at least gave her something to focus on other than the constricting sensation of the walls closing in from all sides. She was so caught up with this memory that she almost missed the fact the passage was brightening.

That meant there was an opening.

Spurred on by this revelation, Pheist contorted herself around the last bend and tossed the pistol and combistick out into the glorious light of day in order to pull herself out of the tunnel. The sky above was clear and she was able to ascertain right away that she'd exited quite high up on the mountainside. She was hauling her hips free when something clamped down on a boot. It - no, they - punctured through the sturdy synthetic material and into her foot. Dozens and dozens of razor sharp teeth.

Crying out, she wrenched herself the rest of the way from the passage. The scavenger appeared, boot in mouth, grinding its jaws mercilessly and sawing further through the material. Too galled by the sight to bother with a weapon, she fisted her cybernetic hand and punched the thing square in the beady eye. It let go and she punted it away with her other foot before it regained its senses, watching it bounce down the slope a ways and shoot out over a bluff.

Another cleared the mouth of the tunnel just as her fingers closed on the combistick and she skewered it before it could even think of biting anything. Then she lurched to her feet and looked for the pistol.

It wasn't on the ground anywhere. Had she knocked it back into the tunnel in her haste to free her boot?

There wasn't time to be pissed with herself. Using the combistick, she dispatched the next five scavengers who attempted to leave the passage in rapid succession. As long as she stayed on top of them, she would be fine. There was only room for one or two to exit at a time. Not to mention, the dead ones kept falling back inside and had to be clogging up the flow. How long would they gun for her before they gave up?

She should have been paying more attention to what was going on outside the tunnel. But it wasn't until a shadow fell over her that she thought to look up.

A set of outstretched sickle shaped talons descended towards her and it was all that Pheist could do to get the combistick across her body in time to batter them aside. A dark leathery wing swept down, knocking her onto her ass as this newest threat swooped past with a piercing screech that tore at her eardrums. It climbed back up into the sky with steady wingstrokes and circled, coming around for a second attempt.

Pushing herself up, she muted the speakers on her HUD, not eager to repeat that experience. A glance to the tunnel revealed one scavenger already free and leaping towards her and a second close on its heels. Swatting the first one down the cliffside towards the ledge with the spear, she sidestepped the second's lunge for her leg and slashed the serrated tip through it.

Before she'd even recovered from the stroke the winged creature slammed into her back and wrapped its claws around her shoulders, the hooked digits snagging on her pauldrons as she stumbled forward, overbalanced. She lost her footing and was expecting to smash her visor against the dirt, but instead felt herself being hoisted up into the air as the leathery wings flapped hard to lift her. Her feet flailed and she mistakenly jerked her head, spotting the ground already a good ten feet below.

Not great.

Grip tightening on the combistick, she jabbed the fully extended length upwards, into the body of the thing. Its hold on her faltered momentarily and it lost purchase on one pauldron, leaving her dangling precariously by the other. They'd risen another ten feet in this time and she sucked in a preparatory breath before hauling the spear out and bucking, feeling the talons slip over her armor and then the terrifying weightlessness of freefall.

In her mind, Pheist commanded herself to be ready to roll when she hit the ground, but the fact was she had no control over the matter. Gravity - which was comparable here to everywhere else she was accustomed to - saw her impact the unforgiving mountainside without any opportunity for nonsense like rolling, but the steep incline helped her out where her reflexes failed. She tumbled down the cliff, curling up as much as she could to protect herself, knowing there'd be no stopping her mad somersaulting descent until the ground levelled out or she hit something - like the bottom.

When she came to, warnings were flashing all across her HUD and something was gnawing her breastplate. The first inhale rattled strangely in her chest, but more than that it fucking hurt. Everything hurt. She attempted to push away the weight on her chest, but white hot pain shot up her arm. The helmet's external cameras must have been damaged in the fall because the picture inside her visor flickered in and out, the multitude of alerts cluttering up the display making it pretty much impossible to see anything else anyway. She silenced them and switched the viewing mode to what was actually visible through her visor with her own two eyes, which happened to be a determined scavenger slobbering on her as it worked to chew through her armor. Trying again, this time with her cybernetic arm, she managed to clumsily stun it with a punch and then grab the thing by a rear leg and toss it away. While it worked, which was more than she could say for her flesh and bone arm, the cybernetic one felt unresponsive and slow. It'd probably been dinged up as well.

The winged creature soared into her line of sight and a burst of bitter laughter left her, immediately regretted as her ribs made their disapproval known with what she could only assume were multiple fractured ends stabbing her insides like a pincushion. It left her gasping and nauseous.

As she did her best for her last living act not to be vomiting inside her helmet, she watched the creature lazily gliding down to feast on her broken body. It didn't seem fair to her, but she wasn't really in a position to have an unbiased opinion on the matter. She _had_ stabbed the thing, she supposed. But only after it had attacked her.

Would Riot find her remains and bury them, at least giving her a dignified resting place?

Was he even alive?

The thought of him entombed down inside the mountain brought more sorrow than her own impending death. No one would find him down there. He'd be alone. Just like he was on the cruiser.

A flash brought her back to the present and she stared up in detached puzzlement as the winged creature blew apart mid air. Blackness encroached from the edges of her vision as steaming hunks of its body rained down around her.


	16. 17

"-you can hear me, so just open your damn eyes."

Something stung her cheek and she flinched.

"Open your eyes."

Whoever that was sounded perturbed. Had she overslept morning drills? Jones would love that.

"Pheist. _Wake_ the hell _up._ "

Why was it so hard to open her eyes? And why did it feel like the light seared straight through to the back of her brain when she did manage to crack them?

She groaned and squeezed them shut again.

"Oh for Christ's sake." There was a click and the brightness behind her lids dimmed considerably. "Try now."

Blinking cautiously, she squinted to make out her surroundings through her lashes.

"You're back on the cruiser. What do you remember?"

Lola. That's who that was. It came back to her slowly, all of it. The slaughtered Yautja, Jones' trampled body, Riot-

"Riot," she blurted.

"Yeah, he brought your dead ass back here."

"He's alive."

"I said he brought _your_ dead ass back here." Lola was eying her dubiously, as though she suspected brain trauma.

"Not so dead, apparently," Pheist pointed out, shifting her focus to herself. Her cybernetic fingers obeyed instantly when she tried fisting them, but the brace immobilizing her other arm seemed to advise against attempting the same with it.

"Fractured in two places," Lola supplied from beside the metal table she laid on. "Along with three ribs. Looks like somethin' was chewing on your foot, too."

"Sounds about right."

"I wasn't done. You also had some internal bleeding and a decent concussion. And yeah, you were dying. No question about it."

Looking to her, Pheist stopped fiddling with the slick metallic sheet draped over her nude form and raised a brow. "So you had a lot on your hands. Didn't know you were medically trained." Though if she was, which seemed to be the case, it explained why Riot had brought her to Lola instead of to the Yautja healer.

Lola snorted. "Most people would be more concerned by a near death experience than the credentials of the one who saved 'em."

"If you're looking for me to cry on your shoulder, it's not really my thing," Pheist said with a small shrug. "How'd you do it, anyway?" She didn't see much in the way of what looked like medical equipment in the room. It seemed fairly empty apart from the table she was lying on, another smaller one shoved up against the near wall with what appeared to be a first aid kit resting atop it, and a stool pushed to the side. And internal bleeding didn't really seem like the type of thing some gauze and bandages would take care of.

Lola indicated a pouch hung from a post on the corner of her makeshift cot. It was half full of a vibrant green fluid which ran down through a tube at the bottom.

Pheist checked her arm again, sure she hadn't seen an IV, and then felt around with her cybernetic hand until she found the port in her neck. That did not look like saline that was being pumped into her vein. "Is that… what is that?"

"That's what saved you. You can thank your pal for the donation."

"You're putting Yautja blood in me?"

Lola rolled her eyes. "It's called a transfusion. Y'know, to replace what leaked out inside your chest cavity? Had to drain that off, be glad you were out cold for that part because it took a few sticks to find the right spot."

"You never said if you had medical training and you're not convincing me you did at the moment."

"Never completed my internship, but I passed the exams," Lola admitted as she turned to the second table, rifling through the first aid kit. Which was more than she'd ever before disclosed about her background, even if it still wasn't much.

"Reassuring," Pheist mumbled, mind racing with this new information. "So did you know Riot's blood wouldn't kill me, or you just too stingy to part with any of your own?"

"Look, I don't hate you, or whatever it is you think."

"I don't know what to think, you won't give me any straight answers about who you are or what you're doing here."

"Because it's none of your business. If I didn't like you, I just wouldn't have helped when O-T'ih'ka came back with you." Lola's back remained turned as she took some items out of the kit.

Knowing Riot and how well he took to being defied, Pheist didn't believe it would have been that simple. "What about the Yautja blood. How'd you know it would work?"

"Call it a theory." Returning to her side, Lola lifted the sheet back over her abdomen, revealing a thick wad of bandaging. She peeled it off with more care than Pheist would have given her credit for and gently prodded the puncture wounds it'd hidden. True to her word, there were three.

"A proven theory," Pheist surmised as she watched the other woman replace the old bandage with the new one from the first aid kit.

Lola's brows climbed. Suspiciously? "What makes you say that?" she questioned, cautious and sounding like she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Be no reason for you to use that instead of your blood, otherwise."

"We might never be the same blood type."

"Still, it'd be a safer bet than pumping me full of alien blood if you didn't know it was going to work."

Lola dropped the sheet back into place and tossed the soiled bandage onto the other table. "It worked. You're not dead. End of story." She headed for the door. "Go back to sleep, I liked you better unconscious." And then she was gone.

Pheist sighed, winced at the twinge it caused from her ribs, and decided it was just as well. Pathetically, the conversation had worn her out as badly as a sparring session with Riot.

He was alive.

Her eyes drifted shut with that bolstering thought in mind and the next time she woke Lola was back, noisily rummaging in the first aid kit once more.

"Could you be any louder?"

She had the minute satisfaction of seeing the other woman jump, clearly having not expected any criticisms from her patient.

"You ever lay off with the snarkiness?" Lola asked in exasperation as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Why? It's my best trait." Pheist ran her uninjured hand over her face, rubbing the grit from her eyes. She felt heavy and there was a cramp in her neck that no doubt came from sleeping on a hard metal surface. "How long's it been?" Was it the same day? A different day? Her stomach gurgled ravenously, informing her she'd skipped a few meals too many.

"Since you got here, or since you passed out last?"

"Either. Both."

Lola came over with another fresh bandage and proceeded to change out the one she'd applied whenever as she answered. "Took about a day for you to wake up the first time. Been twelve hours since that."

"Guess that explains why I'm starving."

"Yeah, well, I brought you somethin' to eat," Lola said as she finished up. "If you think you can manage it without choking."

Pheist wrinkled her nose. "Is it that bad? I mean, I know the point of medbay food is to convince you you're better off _not_ in medbay, but really."

Lola shook her head as she moved away. "You need to either sit up or eat it lying down, smartass."

"And if I gag on some grub all your hard work's down the tube," Pheist concluded, eliciting another snort. She waited for a hand getting up, but Lola leaned against the other table instead and folded her arms, intending to watch her struggle it seemed. "Your bedside manner could use some work." Not about to ask for assistance, she used her cybernetic arm to lever herself up slowly, jaw clenching against the resulting pain from her ribs. By the time she was upright a sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead, but she mulishly held back any utterances of discomfort and shot Lola a defiant look.

"Too stubborn for your own damn good," Lola muttered, but took up the bowl from the table behind her and passed it over.

"What's this?"

"Somethin' like broth. Drink it slow."

Pheist did so, too hungry to care much more about it than that. It didn't taste terrible. "Where's Riot?" she questioned as Lola took back the empty vessel.

"Around."

That was vague. "Is he… alright? Was he hurt?"

"Nothing serious. He's had worse."

Digesting this, Pheist tried to decide what to say next. "He been back here? Since he brought me in?"

"Nope." Lola resumed her leisurely position, her sharp blue eyes studying Pheist in a way she wasn't sure she liked. "You're lucky he even bothered. Yautja don't believe much in medical intervention. You either survive or you don't. When Cetanu calls, it's your time."

"The fuck's Cetanu?"

"The Black Hunter. Their death god." Lola smirked. "You're pissed. Mad he hasn't come around to check on you?"

Pheist _was_ mad. He'd cared enough to bring her back to the cruiser, to get Lola to try to help her. To give up some of his blood. But not enough to see if she'd made it or not? "Come over here and ask that again, I dare you." Her cybernetic fingers gripped the edge of the table, denting the metal with an audible creak.

Lola rolled her eyes. "You don't scare me, kid. I've been on this ship longer than you've been kicking. I've seen it all."

"Seeing it and feeling it are two different things, I promise." Pheist glared long enough that Lola got the message and left her alone. She swiveled, swinging her legs out over the side of the table, and the streak of pain across her ribcage only served to fuel her anger.

Why wouldn't Riot come back? If it hadn't bothered him one way or another whether she lived or died, why try to help at all?

She'd killed the fucking insectoid. Passed his damn test.

She'd escaped the cave-in, fought tooth and nail to make it through that tunnel, and been dropped off the side of a mountain. For what?

For him to ditch her off on Lola the moment she became a burden?

The pouch still held some of his blood, feeding it down the tube and into her body, but she ripped the IV from her neck and slid off the table. Her foot - the one the scavenger had been chewing on - throbbed as she put weight on it. The sheet slipped away, pooling on the floor and revealing the ugly dark bruises discolouring a good deal of her skin. The price. Them, the blood, the sweat, the determination - all the cost of surviving her ordeal.


	17. 17

It took another full day before Pheist felt well enough to leave without risking passing out in the hallway. She dressed in her smartweave, which had been discarded in a corner when she'd been carried in, unconscious. Lola hadn't known anything regarding the whereabouts of her armor, so she assumed Riot had removed it on the shuttle, perhaps to save time. And honestly, it was just as well, because the effort it took simply to pull the smartweave on was enormous. There would be no way she would have been able to don her armor, nor carry it.

There were no Yautja in the corridors, and that made sense. Riot would have preferred to deliver her to a vacant area of the ship. He'd only ever brought her onto the more populated levels if there was no avoiding it; like to train in the kehrite, eat in the mess, or to have her breastplate repaired in the armory.

She located the lift and selected the floor which housed his quarters by hitting the symbol on the panel that he always did, and which she'd by now memorized. Walking was painful. Her ribs protested each stride, and she limped along on her tender bandaged foot, boots dangling from her cybernetic hand. The one was ruined and there'd been no point trying to squeeze the thick wrapping on her foot into it. Her injured arm she kept close to her abdomen to avoid accidentally bumping it off anything. As she'd already learned, despite the brace, that hurt like a bitch.

Outside his room, Pheist waved her boots in front of the panel, then wrapped her knuckles against it when nothing happened. She wasn't about to stand out there and shout for him to open up. If he wasn't inside, she'd feel like a knob. Instead she stepped back and hurled first one boot, then the second at the closed door.

Maybe he was sleeping and it would scare the shit out of him. Unlikely, but a girl could dream.

The door slid open. Riot practically filled the opening. He observed her in silence for a moment, which was just long enough to set her off.

"You left me," she spat, needing to speak the words even if she was also signing them. There was something far more cathartic about giving voice to the outrage in one's soul than making it known with hand gestures. "I hunted. I killed that thing. I proved myself. And you left me! I wasn't ready to die! I fought! I fought everything, all the predators, and I wanted to live!" By this time she was breathing hard and paying for each breath with agonizing stabs of pain.

Cocking his head, he attempted to work through her tirade, or more specifically through the jumble of hand signals she didn't feel had truly imparted what she wished to express.

She stepped in to thrust an accusatory finger into his broad chest. "I wanted to live. I wanted _you_ to want me to live."

Riot's mandibles clicked as she signed this last bit.

Pheist repeated the gestures when he didn't respond, her hand cutting furiously through the air. _Want you to want me to live._

He chuffed uncertainly and her hand balled, striking his chest with a loud thud.

"Say something!"

With a snarl he captured her arm before she could pull it back, signing with his free hand. _Want you to live. Want to hunt with you. Many hunts. Give my blood to heal you._ He yanked her into the room so the door could close, dragging her over to the bed. _Sit. Still healing._

She wrenched her hand away when he released her, unpacified. _Give blood and left. Never returned. Not one time._

Riot's growl was louder this time, indignation flaring his tusks. _Give blood and stay. Many time. Wait. You heal slow. Wait many time. Human say you not die. I left._

Pheist felt the passion drain from her in a matter of seconds.

Lola. She'd told him to go. And had purposefully failed to mention he'd been there, waiting to ensure Pheist would be alright.

She sank down onto the furs, lightheaded.

Crouching before her, he regarded her with consideration. _You hunt good. Slow. Wait. Listen. Search. You kill many prey. Never stop. Never yield. Always fight._ For him, it was a veritable speech, and she couldn't have appreciated it more in that moment.

 _Thank you._ She frowned and hesitated to share her fears with him. _Thought you died in… rocks,_ she settled on, not knowing if it was the same sign for cave or tunnel.

He grunted and made what seemed to be the universal gesture for an explosion. _Kill many small prey. Climb out, not find you._ This seemed to trouble him, or so she read from the way his golden eyes travelled over her, taking in her visible injuries, and his shoulders seemed to hunch.

"You did find me…" Without thinking too much about it, she reached out to his face, which was for once nearly level with her own. Her fingertips skimmed up one lower mandible to his jaw and she watched as his tusks tucked together tightly.

Bowing his head, he brought it to rest lightly against her own in direct imitation of the previous time, when they'd both been wearing protective equipment.

It was difficult to hold eye contact at this proximity, especially when his seemed to be boring into her very core, but she sensed she needed to. That this was what he needed, that it was important not to look away or close her eyes. As much to distract herself as for any other reason, she slid her hand further back, into his mass of tubules and began gently kneading around their bases.

Riot's gaze went from vivid to blank in an instant. As she continued to work across his scalp, his lids fluttered in ecstasy and the expected purr erupted from his chest, rapidly intensifying in both volume and vibration.

Pheist was only sorry she had just the one hand to use. She wanted to feel him, _really_ feel him - feel the reverberations rise up her arm through her fingers. But this was better than nothing.

His mandibles had loosened again in this catatonic state. No one - no human - would ever describe him or any other Yautja as beautiful. Fierce? Yes. Handsome? No. Striking? Yes. Virile? Yes. And there was something alluring about him as well. About his proud bearing, his sense of honour, his unfailing resolve. Something undeniably tempting about his noble head, keen eyes, broad and powerful shoulders. The robust chest where two strong hearts beat surely.

She stifled laughter as the pressure of his forehead against her own increased in response to her ministrations slowing when she became distracted. "You're kinda demanding for a guy who wouldn't let me touch you not long ago."

Startling her, he hooked an arm behind her legs as he half-rose from his crouch, the other circling her back to shift her further onto the bed. Her ribs didn't like it, but she bit back any sounds of distress as he stretched out on the pelts and stared up at her expectantly. He chuffed at her, encouraging her to lay down as well, and then repeated the sound when she didn't immediately grasp she was meant to return to massaging him.

"I stand by my statement," she murmured, not certain she was truly annoyed with him. Threading her fingers back into his mane, she couldn't help smiling when the rumbling resumed promptly.

Riot closed his eyes and his hand settled on her waist, his thumb and fingers curling around her hip, talons gently scraping the smartweave.

Content but mostly just plain worn out from her tantrum, Pheist shut her eyes as well, and even when her hand stilled as she drifted off, he continued to purr.


	18. 18

Riot was uncharacteristically accommodating over the following few days. Not only did he not drag her anywhere or manhandle her into the shower because she offended his delicate sense of smell, he spent most of his time catering to her needs - inasmuch as a Yautja could. Meals were hand delivered from the mess, he allowed her to sleep when and for as long as she wished, and even set himself to cleaning her armor - which she'd discovered had graduated from a pile on the floor to a place of honour on the shelving beside his own. When she complained of boredom, he even fetched his books from their new hiding place outside his quarters for her to read.

And that was fine. For a while.

But eventually all the lazing around/recovering grew tiresome. There was only so long one could stare at the same four walls. And as much as she'd appreciated the gesture, reading wasn't exactly Pheist's favourite pastime. She got more satisfaction out of reading aloud to him, something he seemed enthralled by, perhaps because he could put the words he understood in written form together with their spoken counterparts. Or perhaps because he simply enjoyed the sound of her voice. Her money was on the former, however.

Tossing and turning one night, which was not generally advised with fractured ribs, she finally came to the end of her patience.

"Take me to the healing pools," she insisted into the darkness, knowing he wasn't asleep either owing to the soft growls of irritation he emitted every time she changed positions.

Riot grunted and this time was the one to roll over, giving her his back, something he wouldn't have dared do only a week ago.

Pushing herself up with a wince, she reached out to very gently tug one of his dreads.

This elicited a firmer snarl as he turned onto his back again and fixed her with what she assumed was meant to be a warning look.

 _Healing water. Take me._ She made the signs slowly, not for his benefit, but because she still needed to be careful with her flesh and blood arm. Abrupt or jerky motions were painful.

_You sleep._

Pheist snorted. _Sleep many times. Take me. Not tired._ She paused and smirked. _No more…_ she mimed massaging his head, _if not take me._

This got his attention. He clicked speculatively, weighing out his options, and then got up.

Climbing off the bed, she followed him triumphantly, padding barefoot through the halls to the lift. It was halfway through the sleep cycle, or thereabouts, so there weren't any others around on the upper level. They headed through the kehrite and into the room with the bubbling pools and she eagerly cast her robe off and stepped into the water. It stung her injured foot something fierce at first, but as she eased down further, the throbbing faded. She took an experimentally deeper than normal breath once submerged up to her shoulders for a few moments, and while her ribs certainly still twinged, it was far more tolerable than it usually was.

Rather than join her right away, Riot went to the cabinet the 'aseigan had accessed on their previous visit, returning with a handful of the small vials of oils. He removed his loincloth and entered the pool beside her, holding out his offering.

"Oh so this is your price for humouring me, is it?" She might have guessed he'd not given in without first plotting how the outing could be advantageous to him. He was ever thinking ahead, planning his actions four or five moves out, both in the kehrite and in their interactions. His cunning impressed her much of the time - when she wasn't too pissed to admit it.

 _For you_ , he signed with his free hand, taking her aback.

_For me?_

He captured the wet ends of her hair, floating on the surface of the water, in explanation.

Pheist just laughed, and for the first time in a while it didn't kill to do so. "Why do you find it so mesmerizing?" She took the bottles and found the one she'd used the last time. Dipping her head back, she wet the rest of her hair and began to work the oil through it and into a lather. As before, it was slow going with all the tangles, made doubly so by her still healing arm, which she could only use tentatively.

Noting her struggles, Riot lifted his hand, and she held still as he raked his talons gently through the snarled mass, watching her closely for any indication she didn't appreciate the help.

"Go on, then," she encouraged, lowering her own arms.

He chuffed and brought his other hand up as well, setting himself to the task with evident zeal. His claws scraped the back of her skull in a manner which made it difficult to think straight and she wondered if other males reciprocated these types of ministrations. The two 'aseigan from before had been female, but apart from those in that caste and the one who'd repaired her breastplate, she never saw other female Yautja on the ship. Then again, she hadn't explored much of it. It had sounded like, from what Lola said, the males and females didn't interact much or at all after the deed was done, but what about beforehand? Were there mating rituals? Did they court?

Exhaling in languid delight, she slumped forward until her forehead rested against his chest. Coming here had been a stroke of genius. Not only did her battered body feel exponentially better, Riot was shockingly adept at comatose inducing hairplay. His talons trailed from her crown all the way down the back of her neck and over her shoulders, gliding through tangles with envied ease. The brush she'd dreamed about countless times now felt entirely unnecessary.

A slow rumble was building from within him, but it seemed different from other times. Less relaxed, more urgent. In truth it was an odd and pleasing mixture, half-growl half-purr, and Pheist soon realized the meaning behind it when he drew her in closer, bringing their bodies flush. An unmistakable bulge pressed into her stomach.

Since his claws continued to comb through her hair, she took a moment to gauge her own response. To deny the fact she was attracted to him despite their differing species would have been beyond ignorant on her part. She'd sensed it nearly from the start, even when she'd been frightened for her life. There'd always been something about him. And getting to know him, to understand him - as much as he allowed her to do so - and to respect him had only intensified the attraction. She didn't know to what extent his own feelings ran, or if there were any apart from desire; both sexual and to have her hunt by his side, but he'd cared enough to save her. To give his blood and to wait with her until he'd known she would survive. In her time there he'd never shown that kind of attachment to another. She'd been his constant companion these past weeks and before her, she didn't know that he'd had anyone. Anyone at all to share his life with. Perhaps that was normal for his kind, but it seemed more to her that he was an outcast. Whether the isolation was self-inflicted or otherwise, she was flattered that he'd chosen her to change that with.

Beneath the water, she brought her palms up to lay flat against his abdomen. Slowly, she slid them up over the rigid and defined muscles, breaking the surface as they traversed his pectorals.

His own hands left her hair and travelled down her back, the contrast between where calluses and talons skimmed raising gooseflesh. The timber of the reverberations deepened, which Pheist took as a sign he liked what she was doing.

Emboldened, she lifted one leg, running the inside of her thigh up the length of his and hooking it around his leg as high up as she could conceivably reach. The height difference was going to prove a problem. When his hands reached her hips she gripped his shoulders and pulled herself up, prompting him to take her weight, which he did. The friction of his smooth, pebbled hide sliding against her more sensitive regions produced a soft noise of unexpected pleasure which immediately seemed to intrigue him. His fingers dug into her skin and he gathered her more firmly against his arousal, an act that caused her breath to hitch.

"Easy," she mumbled, knowing what was to come was going to be uncomfortable at first. He was large. In every sense of the word. Just thinking about it made her mouth grow dry. Swallowing, she touched his face to ensure she had his attention. _Slow,_ she advised him as nerves over what they were about to do accosted her.

Riot hadn't stopped rumbling, but as though sensing her agitation, the more familiar and soothing purr she was accustomed to came to the forefront. He lowered his head, his mandibles flitting across her neck and over her shoulder, lightly touching her in a way he never had before. When she leaned back a little to grant him access, he explored down her collarbone and breasts, his fleeting caresses melting away her worries. Whether he'd done this before or not, he was the epitome of perception, reading every subtle reaction, every change in her breathing and small moan he drew forth expertly.

Pheist came to understand this was a hunt of a different kind for him; a pursuit not of prey, but of pleasure. She could feel her need building, achy and hot. While patience was not a virtue she could associate with him, in this instance at least he possessed the greater amount. Writhing against him, she brought his focus back to where she wanted it now and did her best not to tense up as he pushed inside her without delay.

The cadence of his growl deepened once more, but he made his intrusion into her most vulnerable of places controlled and slow as she'd cautioned him, waiting for her contracted passage to soften before he pulled back and repeated the motion.

She was somewhat in awe that he fit, but that awe rapidly turned to bliss as he thrust steadily into her. Wanting him to derive the same euphoria she was, she buried one hand into his mane while the other continued to grip his shoulder, anchoring her upper body. Her legs had clamped around his hips, grinding their bodies together to create even more delicious heat. At one point she realized the low and feminine sounds of lust were coming from her, but she was far past the ability to mind. Past the ability to mentally function at all, really. Staring into Riot's captivating golden eyes, she could feel herself approaching the edge. Climax hit her hard, wringing a cry of ecstasy from her, and it was all she could do to bury her face into his dreads as the waves of pleasure rolled unrelentingly through her.

A moment later he joined her, stiffening, his hold on her becoming painful as every muscle in his considerable frame seemed to seize simultaneously. The bellow which left him was filled with passion and his entire body shuddered with the force of it. As the ringing roar died away, his grip once again slackened. Small tremors racked him seemingly from head to toes, giving the sensation that he was shivering as he held her close.

Pheist felt him relax back against the edge of the pool, his breathing more laboured than she'd ever heard it before. She lifted her head as her own erratic heartbeat began to slow and noted in amusement that his eyes were now closed and he appeared supremely sated, his mandibles hanging loose and not a trace of tension anywhere in his features. She leaned in and brushed her lips over his jaw.

"That was nice. Let's do it again some time," she suggested, having to grin when he chuffed his agreement, eyes remaining shut.


	19. 19

Her training resumed with caution. Riot taught her techniques with the focus of building up her speed and stamina, which he seemed to believe were key traits for her in battle. She was small, he explained, and would not be capable of overpowering most of her prey. She needed to strike fast and retreat even faster, to not take hits which she could not afford to due to her more delicate constitution. She had to be agile, to anticipate threats and avoid them, and to know when to press her advantage and when to hold back.

 _Who trained you?_ she signed curiously during a break one day, aware of the gazes of the other Yautja sparring in the kehrite, but better able to ignore them at this point. One she was keeping an eye on, however, was the male who'd suckerpunched her previously. He occupied a ring on the far side of the circular room and thus far seemed to be patently disregarding her.

Continuing to spin the combistick he was wielding, which she perceived was more restless habit than any means of impressing her, Riot didn't respond. She thought he might refuse to, but upon closer inspection she noticed his tusks ticking consideringly, and she realized she'd created somewhat of a conundrum for him. He was trying to figure out how to answer her since he couldn't exactly _tell_ her the name of the Yautja. How to describe someone who looked much the same as all others on the ship with the limited sign language?

"His name's Thwo-stba," Lola piped up from the doorway.

Pheist looked over, having not noticed the other woman enter. It was the first she'd seen of her unlikely saviour since returning to Riot's quarters.

"He's Clan Leader," she went on, feeling generous with her information that day it seemed. "You look good for someone who was half-dead last week."

"And you look as cagey as ever. What's your secret? Is it just that you're old and cranky? Wait, nevermind - I forgot you only tell someone what suits you at the time, even if it's a fucking lie," Pheist said, reigning in her temper before she stalked over and throttled the other woman.

"Cranky? You're one to talk. He keeping you up at night?" Lola glanced to Riot, who was observing their interaction with interest, the combistick now still in his hand. "They usually only get randy when the females come into season, but they're pretty insatiable at that point. Can breed with five, six - maybe a dozen or more, if they've proven themselves and the gals think they'd sire strong pups. Vechaath's got probably close to a hundred-fifty offspring to his name. He's in high demand every year."

Pheist's brow furrowed as she tried to reason out why she was being told all this. "Good for him."

"Gotta think a seed of his whose got a trophy wall like O-T'ih'ka's will start catching the female's interest pretty soon, too."

Ah, so that was her game. "You're trying to make me jealous? Really?" It seemed a weak play.

Lola shrugged as she turned her attention back Pheist. "Just giving you a head's up. That's what these guys live for. That's what the hunt's all about. Building themselves up, all the bragging rights, all the glory - it's so they can pass on their DNA to the next generation. To create stronger Yautja. Better Hunters. And so on, and so forth."

"Fascinating. Why didn't you tell me he was there? While I was out cold? He waited. Until you told him I'd be fine."

"Never said he didn't."

"You fucking knew I assumed he didn't give a shit," Pheist pointed out, grip on her canteen tightening.

Riot rumbled softly as he moved to her side. He couldn't understand the words they were saying, but understood her mood had soured in a hurry. _We train._

"Tell him. Tell him you lied about what he did."

"I didn't lie, you just said yourself you jumped to conclusions," Lola insisted. "And I'm not telling him shit. Whatever's going on between you two's got nothin' to do with me."

Pheist threw down the canteen, too miffed to care that the clatter called even more attention to their little dispute than there already had been. _Tell him._

Lola rolled her eyes.

 _Tell him what you did._ She looked to Riot to ensure he was following the exchange and saw that his gaze had hardened somewhat.

"You don't know what you're doing," Lola snapped, her facade of nonchalance slipping. _Healed her. Helped. Did nothing._

Before either she or Riot could respond, something came sailing across the kehrite, striking her injured arm and earning a curse. The canteen hit the floor and wobbled between her feet. Her focus shot across the room, locking onto the tawny Yautja who'd taken issue with her before. Had the container rolled all the way over there for his convenient use as a projectile?

A thunderous growl erupted from Riot, but before he could intervene on her behalf again Pheist hefted her combistick and launched it at her antagonizer. The large male jerked sideways to avoid the weapon and it plunged into the padded floor in the place he'd been standing an instant before. His eyes travelled from the quavering shaft to her, mandibles flared, but not fully, the one which Riot had broken now crooked. He seemed to be counting up his odds as he looked between the two of them. His sparring partner stood back, wanting no part of it, and the tawny Yautja turned his head away, breaking eye contact and ending the confrontation.

When she turned back to the doorway, Lola was gone.

Shocker.

Glancing up to Riot, she sighed. He nodded for her to retrieve her combistick, a glint of approval in his eye, and she made her way across the kehrite to calmly collect her weapon.

They returned to his quarters and showered together, which of course led to other activities. The truth was that Lola hadn't been wrong. Not about the interruptions to her sleeping routine or a male Yautja's voracious sexual appetite. It was difficult to keep up with his libido, but also impossible to refuse him when time and time again he left her a trembling bundle of nerves.

There were worse complaints to have, she supposed, as coherent thought returned to her later that night. Confined beneath the prison of his lax body, she trailed her fingers up and down his back, marveling at his self-control. Even in the throes passion, or now - afterwards - when all strength seemed to momentarily drain from his limbs, he remained aware enough not to hurt her by allowing too much of his considerable weight to rest on her. He supported himself over her with quivering muscles, head dropped to the furs as he heaved in and out great breaths of air.

Pressing soft kisses to his shoulder, she waited while he slowly came down from the high of his orgasm. This was the only time she got to see him like this, entirely at the mercy of raw nerve endings and incapable of calculating his actions in advance. So she didn't rush it. Rather, she relished that she seemed quicker to recover her faculties, and enjoyed the feel of his uncharacteristically pliant frame. Sliding her flesh and blood hand around to his front, she laid it over the two hearts pounding behind his ribcage, feeling their staccato beats slow.

He shifted above her and Pheist wrinkled her nose at the unpleasantness which leaked out along with his withdrawal. She'd need another shower. Alone, this time. Before she could voice this intention, he buried his face into her hair, his mandibles tangling in the tresses as he released a lethargic trill. He'd repositioned himself so that his weight bore down on his side and his arm still draped across her abdomen.

"You're taking this cuddling business seriously, huh?"

That hadn't been the case the first few times. And while she'd guessed it was a foreign concept to him, and she'd never been the type herself before, it had stung to have him passionately embracing her one moment and severing all physical contact the next. Attempting to explain that to him had gone predictably unwell. But he'd been amenable enough to staying close to her when she'd presented it as a demand. Demands were Riot's language, after all. And while she wished he understood why it was important to her, it would just have to be good enough that he obliged her.

"Hey." She touched his jaw to get his attention and he exhaled in what she knew was mimicry of her own sighs of exasperation as he pulled back to see what it was she wanted. _Tell me about human healer. Tell me what you know._ She trusted he would understand she referred to Lola.

He grunted, unimpressed with the topic evidently. _Came here many time ago._

_How?_

_Yautja who train me bring her._

Lola had said Thwo'stba was the Clan Leader. Why would he have brought her onto the ship? It didn't seem like Lola hunted, granted she would probably be on the tail end of such a career even if she did. _This_ _Yautja train her?_

Riot chittered at this, apparently finding the notion highly entertaining.

 _Why then? Why bring her here?_ Pheist felt she was on the cusp of learning something integral, something that could unravel the mystery of Lola Jameson and whether or not she could be trusted.

 _Came with different human._ He sat up suddenly and got off the bed, heading into the wet room.

Pheist followed him, undeterred by his obvious desire to be done with the discussion. _Tell me about human._

Hitting the panel to engage the shower, he ignored her.

"Riot." She stepped beneath the spray as well, fixing him with a stare which she was sure imparted she had no intentions of dropping the subject. _Tell me._

_Human hunted with Young Blood. Killed hard meat. Killed queen._

Did that mean this had happened on Earth? Where else would a human have encountered Xenomorphs? And Yautja?

 _Where human now? Still here?_ Was there someone besides Lola? She knew she'd only seen a very small portion of the cruiser. Another human like her. Who hunted. Her mind raced.

 _No. Dead._ Riot's attention returned to cleaning himself, though she got the sense it was a forced distraction. He was avoiding this conversation and she didn't understand why.

 _Dead how? What killed human?_ Had he known this second human? Had this been who had taught him to read? Given him the books and cellular device?

A cold shiver hit her as the possibility he was the Young Blood who'd hunted with this human formed. Had he done this before? Taken a human, trained them? To hunt? Was she not the first? And how did she feel about that?

A chime rang out from the bedroom. It was a noise Pheist had never heard before, but one she knew the cause of nonetheless. Someone was outside Riot's quarters.

Turning back, he clicked slowly, finding the door chime as foreign as she did, it seemed. He left the shower and she hurriedly shut the water off and snatched her robe from the peg, pulling it on before he let whoever it was in. He'd donned a loincloth by the time she stepped into the bedroom and was striding to the door, water droplets still rolling off of his shoulders from his dreads. He passed his hand before the panel and the door slid open, revealing not one, but three large Yautja. Her tawny nemesis stood at the forefront of the trio and his hateful gaze darted to her immediately.

Riot rumbled a warning, which had the intended effect, bringing the Hunter's focus back onto him.

What was this about? No one ever came down here. No one sought out Riot.

The tawny male was obviously communicating something with great relish, and it made her skin crawl. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. When he finished, the two behind him shifted carefully, their full attention on Riot. Waiting for his reaction. They were anticipating a bad one, from what she could tell.

She couldn't see his face, but his posture had become much more rigid, more alert. He made to step into the hall with them and Pheist crossed the room swiftly, not meaning to be left behind, but the tawny male was already snarling and gesturing in her direction.

Riot growled and flexed his talons. _Come_ , he signed after a few tense moments without looking back to her.


	20. 20

The lift ride - while lasting only a few seconds - was the longest of Pheist's life.

The tension was palpable, and Riot had shoved her into a corner where she was barely able to move, his bulk effectively blocking her from sight of the others. They'd been acting strange. Testing the air and snarling, their mandibles working in agitation as they'd eyed her up on the short walk to the lift. It wasn't disdain she sensed this time - well, except from the tawny Yautja. He was as filled with loathing for her as normal, it seemed. His companions' minds seemed to be elsewhere, and she realized why that was when she considered she'd spent a very brief period of time in the shower before they'd interrupted. She probably still smelled. Like arousal. Her own and Riot's.

Wonderful.

The door couldn't open fast enough for her liking. The tawny male led the way out while two of his mates waited for Riot to herd her out before following. The hallways were crowded and she knew immediately this was not a level she had previously visited. What was worse was that everyone seemed on edge and none of them were moving much. They milled in the corridors, making passage difficult, and growled when they were bumped or nudged aside.

Finally they reached an open doorway and were crowded inside. Snarling and sharp clicks filled the space, but beyond and between the towering bodies surrounding them Pheist could see ceremonial armor displayed in cases along with an assortment of ornamental weaponry. She was about to ask Riot what the hell was going on when something trickling across the floor panels caught her attention.

The Yautja parted before them and she sensed Riot's already tense posture become even more rigid at the sight of a crumpled figure on the ground. The hide was a grayish green with faded darker stippling and not one she was familiar with. What she _was_ now familiar enough with were Yautjan expressions, and the shit-eating grin the tawny male wore was unmistakable.

Riot stalked forward suddenly and she hurried in his wake, avoiding the green blood leaking across the decking from the prostrate form. He paused beside the male, mandibles flared and quivering as he took in the multitude of wounds. Long facial quills spoke to the advanced age of the lifeless Yautja, whose rich chestnut eyes stared at nothing.

Uncertain how best to react, Pheist cast a sideways glance around at those gathered. Vechaath was among them, his demeanor giving away nothing, while most others ranged from disturbed to accepting to triumphant. The culprit, with blood staining his talons, stood apart from the rest. His chest still heaved and it was clear from his injuries that the elder Yautja, whoever he'd been, had not gone down easily. Unlike those who were in favour of his victory, his focus remained absolute. Muscles leapt beneath his heavily inked hide as he took a step towards them, beaded dreads clicking softly.

A thunderous rumbling erupted from Riot in response.

All other noises ceased in that moment.

The tattooed Hunter flexed his hands and approached another step, causing Riot to half-turn, the cadence of his growl increasing. He swept an arm out to shove her out of the way, and she knew if the two squared up that there would be another battle to the death.

This was the reason they'd been brought here. This was the reason the tawny male was so gleeful.

The only Yautja Elder she was aware of who Riot shared a connection with would have been Thwo'stba, his mentor. The Clan Leader. Which meant what had happened here had been a play for power. And the tattooed Yautja had won.

"Riot," Pheist began, her voice swallowed up immediately and lost in the din. "Riot!" Before she could attempt to angle herself back into his line of sight a hand closed around her wrist and yanked her sharply aside.

"Don't," Lola hissed into her ear. "Don't shame him in front of them by telling him not to fight."

"Fuck you!"

"You have to let him deal with this. I told you, it's all about honour for them. If he backs down because of you, he has _no_ honour anymore in their eyes. None. He's worthless, worse than the 'aseigan. They won't tolerate it, they'll slaughter him." For an old gal, Lola had some strength left in her grip, and she managed to hold on long enough to impart this warning before Pheist ripped her arm free.

It was already too late.

The two surged together with all the noise and force of two supernovas. They grappled, impossibly large muscles bulging, and Riot's opponent was the first to draw blood. His mandibles closed over Riot's shoulder, inner fangs sinking in viciously. One shake of his powerful neck tore a chunk from Riot's dark hide, who bellowed in outrage and redoubled his efforts, talons scoring the other's side as the two staggered in a circle.

Pheist's heart had become lodged in her throat. She knew she couldn't rush in to his aid. Not only was she more likely to get in the way than to offer help, but Riot would be furious. Nausea overwhelmed her as she realized with sickening clarity that Lola was right. She had to stand by and let him sort this out. Whatever that entailed.

For several tense moments which felt like they stretched on into eternity, the two appeared evenly matched. They broke apart, traded blows, then clashed back together. Apart from the nasty wound to his shoulder, Riot gave as good as he got.

Then it happened. His clawed foot landed in the gore leaking from his mentor and slid from beneath him, a minute miscalculation which his opponent took savage advantage of. As Riot twisted to compensate for the slip, his weight was thrown off balance, and the other Hunter slammed a shoulder into his chest to complete the stumble. Riot went down on one knee and was already pushing off with his other foot, claws scraping the deck as he attempted to rise back up, when the other male launched a kick into his bent knee.

Pheist heard the resulting crunch of the joint as it snapped sideways at an unnatural angle. She nearly shouted.

A pained snarl was ripped from Riot's throat as he staggered, throwing an arm out to prevent himself toppling over entirely. He grit his inner teeth as the other Yautja set about delivering punch after punch into his exposed ribs, knocking aside any and all attempts at blocking the meaty fists. Despite the onslaught, Riot remained crouched, refusing to be beaten down to the floor plating. After a particularly brutal blow, he managed to catch his aggressor's arm, chest heaving, each exhalation widening the trickle of luminescent green fluid dribbling from his mouth.

Her feet had carried her forward a few steps of their own volition before Lola's restraining hand landed firmly on her shoulder. She wanted to slap it off and throw herself in front of him. She wanted to wail for this to stop. She did neither. Just watched in muted horror as the heavily tattooed male drove a knee into his face which rocked his head backwards and then seized a huge fistful of his dreads, holding him there in the vulnerable position.

At this, the others who had watched on in such stoic silence broke into protesting growls and clicks.

Pheist felt hope bloom inside her. They would intervene. _Someone_ would intervene. Her frantic gaze shot to Vechaath, who stood very still, his focus anchored on the scene before him. His pale golden eyes, so like and yet so different from his offspring's, were sharp and calculating as they took in every detail. Then, to her astonishment, they tracked across the room to land on her. She held her breath. Willed him to do something. To protect his blood.

Suddenly, the volume of complaints rose dramatically. Her attention flew back in time to recoil in terror as, in spite of the noisy objections of his brethren, the big Hunter drew his arm back and plunged his wicked talons into Riot's neck.

She shrieked, lunging in even as the male ripped his hand back again, a torrent of Yautja blood following. He released Riot, whose mandibles were working in seeming disbelief, and whirled on her threateningly.

A roar split the air, drowning out all others.

The victor hesitated.

Pheist bypassed him and wouldn't have spared a thought for herself if he'd lashed out and killed her in that moment. All that mattered was reaching Riot. He was slumping forward already. She collided with him, slapping her palm over the devastating wound, and felt the hot gush against her skin as it immediately ran down her wrist and forearm.

"It's alright," she heard herself blurting in a too-loud voice. "You're alright. Riot, you're alright."

Yautja were shuffling all around her. She paid them no heed.

His eyes were as wide as she'd ever seen them. They locked onto her and he tried to straighten up, to sit taller, but failed. His tusks tucked in tightly - in pain, she knew.

"Lola. Lola!"

"I'm right here, christ," the other woman bit out, though without heat, her voice rather more shaken than it'd ever been before. She knelt down, but didn't bother reaching out to examine the damage. "There's nothin' I can do, you know that."

"Fucking try! _Help him_!" she hissed, hand slipping against the punctures, so slick with his blood. His breathing was laboured and rasping and she didn't dare even glance at his shattered knee.

"Pheist-"

"Please, _please_ help. I'll fucking beg if that's what you need, just do something!"

"Even if I could, it's not their way. Look around you. They're all gone. As far as they're concerned, this is over," Lola explained, not unkindly.

She didn't look - couldn't tear her eyes away from Riot's - but neither could she hear the others anymore.

"Say your goodbyes," Lola advised. She grasped Riot's uninjured shoulder a moment, meeting his gaze, then left.

His hand unsteadily lifted, a taloned finger touching her chin. He pulled it back, blinking at the moisture collected on the pad, and chuffed in question as his head tilted incrementally.

She swallowed thickly. "Tears," she told him as she signed awkwardly with her free hand - _wet, pain._ "You have to get up. I can use the medkit, I can fix this." Even as she spoke, his blood dripped from her elbow into a growing puddle. _Stand. I heal you._

He grunted in dismissal of the notion.

"Riot please…"

_You go. Find human. Leave now. Go back._

She frowned in puzzlement and frustration. "Go back? What are you talking about?"

 _Other humans. Find other humans. Not here._ It was costing him to make the appropriate symbols, which possessed none of the natural fluidity of movement she thoroughly enjoyed watching from him.

"That's not- I'm not leaving you." What other humans was he talking about? Her former unit?

His hand closed around her bicep and squeezed in warning against her defiance as he growled softly.

"I'm not leaving you," she repeated it.

His pants had become more shallow and after a moment of glowering at her, his grip loosened. She didn't know whether that was because he'd accepted she was too damn stubborn to listen to him or whether his strength was failing him.

Realizing her robe would do more to stem the flow from the injury than her hand, and feeling as though her thoughts were spinning fruitlessly, she made to pull the garment off. His hand slid down her arm to her wrist and he tugged it away from where she'd been untying the belt. "Riot, stop, I need to- Riot!" She almost yanked free, but he obviously retained enough energy to overpower her, and raised her clenched fingers up to his dreads. He rumbled once in encouragement. She wanted to be annoyed, but the understanding that he was seeking comfort caused the emotion to wither and die instantaneously. She uncurled her fingers and allowed them to sink into the mass of tubules.

His eyes closed and she seized up.

"Riot!"

He looked down at her, grumbling a protest, and she relaxed marginally and resumed massaging with the one hand while the other ineffectively covered the lethal wound. His purring was soothing, but tainted by the gurgle deep in his lungs. Fractured ribs had no doubt punctured them.

Her heart ached at knowing how broken he was. His forehead lowered, coming to rest against her own. The reverberations coursed through her gently and she choked up more, distressed by the fear this would be the last time she felt the pleasant vibrations.

A faint clicking broke into the moment and Riot lifted his head, albeit sluggishly, and broke off from his rumbling.

Pheist looked back, surprised to find Zihrait standing not far away.

Riot's hand slid to the small of her back in a possessive embrace. Zihrait had shown interest in her that day in the hallway. Was that why he was here? Was he just waiting for Riot to die so he could attempt to claim her as his own?

"Go away," she ordered him hoarsely, leaning closer to Riot's hunched form.

The mossy Yautja male cocked his head, his crimson eyes glinting. He lifted his hands and signed, to her dismay. _Take you away. Help._ His head tilt seemed to indicate it was an offer.

She removed her fingers from Riot's dreads and warily answered. _Help how?_

 _Take you away._ His gaze flicked between them. _Take you. Take him. Help._

 _Why?_ Pheist didn't understand this. Lola had said it wasn't part of their culture, to try to save those mortally wounded. She knew what Riot's motives had been in going against that to help her. But why would Zihrait defy their beliefs?

His hands had returned to his sides. He didn't seem inclined to provide an explanation as he stared at them in silence.

Did she have a choice? The only alternative was letting Riot go, not even attempting to save him - and she knew she couldn't do that. He was listing into her, barely able to remain upright any longer. He'd lost so much blood. _Hurry_ , she motioned hastily, knowing her mind had been made up the moment he'd offered.

Riot stiffened marginally as Zihrait closed in. He snarled a weak threat, his talons raking her back as he tried to pull her in and protect her.

"It's alright. You have to let him help," she murmured to him, caressing his tense mandibles, his jaw, and pressing a kiss to his cooling hide.

Zihrait bent, brushing her aside with ease, and proceeded to heft Riot over his shoulder. He straightened up and chuffed for her to go ahead with a jerk of his head towards the doors.

"Wait, his neck-"

 _Go now,_ his hand chopped through the air with authority, _heal later._

Pheist bit the inside of her cheek in anxiety and spun around, rushing from the room.


	21. 21

Pheist imagined any number of awful scenarios as they hurried to the lift. Their passage did not go unnoticed, with the corridors still populated by a dozen or more Yautja who either clicked in puzzlement or snarled as they went by. She was convinced one would step into their path at any moment, demand what was going on.

To his credit, Zihrait just ignored them. Once the lift doors had closed, he slanted his eyes towards her and adjusted Riot's prone form. The steady patter of blood hitting the floor made her feel as though she were slowly losing her mind.

She signed jerkily, _Need you give blood._

His mandibles flared for the first time in her presence in a display of indignation.

_Will die. Needs blood._

_Will heal if strong._ He toted Riot out the moment the lift settled and she recognized the level as the lower most, where the hangar bays were located as she trotted along behind his larger strides. Riot's dreads swayed back and forth in time with each step, his vibrant green blood coating many of them as it followed gravity's pull to the ground.

Seeing him so lifeless made her knees weak, but she refused to allow the notion he might already have expired to percolate in her mind. He _was_ strong - he was resilient and vital, he would survive. She wouldn't let him not survive.

They paused before another set of doors, and this time Zihrait pressed several glowing symbols before it opened to allow them entry. The craft docked within was sleek and of a similar size to but not the same as the one Riot had utilized when he'd taken her hunting. The ramp stood open, and he carried Riot inside, crouching to set the other male down with less care than Pheist might have wished.

Riot's head thumped onto the floor, his eyes closed, and he did not stir.

It took everything not to rush to him and check for a pulse, but their would-be saviour was already turning to head to the cockpit, and her hand had shot out to grab his arm before she'd had time to consider if it was suicidal or not. _Needs blood. Will die. Help. Do not waste._ She tried to impart it was hardly worth the trouble he was putting himself through if Riot didn't make it.

Snarling, Zihrait pointedly looked down to where her pale fingers rested against his hide.

 _Help._ She kept her hand where it was.

"You sure are a fool," Lola drawled from the top of the ramp.

Pheist started at the unexpected appearance.

Zihrait did not. He shook off her grip and went into the cockpit.

Lola was moving to kneel beside Riot, a battered looking duffle in her hand, so Pheist joined her.

"What is that?"

"My shit. Don't expect we'll be welcome back after this." She opened it and rummaged around, pulling out a few wads of gauze and a tool that looked similar to the stapler Riot had used to close up the wound to his flank.

A thrum ran through the ship as it was powered up and the ramp drew closed, sealing them in.

"Is it going to be enough if you stop the bleeding?"

"Not by a long shot, but you already know that. Don't waste my time with stupid questions." Lola used the gauze to dry up the worst of the fluid leaking from the punctures to Riot's neck. "No arterial spray, that's good. Or it's not and there's not enough left in him for his hearts to pump out under pressure."

"What can I do?" Pheist demanded, feeling useless.

"Convince the lunatic who just threw away his whole future on a whim to part with some green stuff."

This pulled her brow down. "Why'd he do it, do you think?"

"Dunno. Never been especially interested in O-T'ih'ka before." Pinching together the first of the ragged holes in Riot's hide, Lola began stapling.

He didn't so much as twitch.

Pheist lurched up and headed into the cockpit. Through the view screen, she could see they'd already cleared the hangar bay. The vast expanse of space opened up before them, stars and distant planets twinkling across the void.

Zihrait was intentionally avoiding looking at her, but his tusks had drawn together when she'd come in.

She sank into the co-pilot's seat. "I don't know why you did this, but it means nothing if you don't give him some of your blood. It's pointless. A waste. Do you get it?" She signed something along the same lines, but felt the need to verbalize her plea. "He needs help. What happened to him was wrong." She mimed grabbing her own hair in the manner the Hunter had done to Riot. "Wrong." Even in battle, Yautja did not touch each other's dreads. They were extremely sensitive and it was considered dishonourable and cowardly - a fact she'd learned only after hauling on Riot's that one time.

Zihrait growled low in his throat. She hoped in agreement.

_Help now. Give blood._

He ignored her, tapping in something and maneuvering them towards a cluster of brighter stars.

Pheist was about to resort to smacking him in his stupid face when he flicked a switch, tapped a few more commands in, then turned to her. Where Riot's gaze imparted keen intelligence and fierceness, she found it difficult to read Zihrait's red eyed stare. She didn't sense menace from him. Uncertainty, maybe?

He clicked in deliberation, his attention never wavering from her, and she fought the tendrils of unease curling inside her gut. Both in the hall outside medbay and when she and Riot had brought her breastplate for repair, Zihrait's interest in her had been conspicuous. Half of her worried he had an ulterior motive in all this, but did she care? Did it make a difference? Riot needed the blood.

Since appealing to him didn't seem to be getting her far, she swallowed and tried something else. _Trade?_

This intrigued him, if the quickening staccato of his clicking was any indication. _Trade what?_

 _Your blood._ Her hands were shaking. _I… hunt with you._ It was all she could think to offer. She had no other value to him or any other Yautja, surely. She only hoped his fascination with her would lead him to find the proposition, if not a worthy exchange for his blood, at least intriguing enough to agree to it.

Studying her, his tusks stilled. He reached up and, to her bewilderment, detached one of the bone beads from a dread with a sharp tug. When he held it out to her, she glimpsed that the black tubule he'd removed it from was leaking blood. _Take_ , he signed with his free hand when she failed to do so, followed by a gesture she didn't know.

Carefully accepting the bead, Pheist stiffened as he caught ahold of some of her hair.

A soft rumble escaped him as he twisted several strands together with his fingers and abruptly yanked them free.

Hissing in pain, she grabbed at her burning scalp. "The fuck?!" She glared at him, positive he'd been aware it would hurt her, and yet he didn't appear contrite in the least. Her chestnut hair stood out against the mossy tones of his hide. She watched in consternation as he looped the twisted strands around and around the dread he'd taken the bead from. Was this some sort of pact?

Zihrait chuffed at her pointedly once he'd finished.

Stomach knotted with conflicting emotions, she drew the bead over a thick coil of her still damp and tangled locks. It seemed there were small teeth inside, as the ornament clung to her hair, and she supposed that was what held it in place and had caused his dread to bleed. She warily passed her eyes over the many others throughout his mass of tubules, realizing each one must have pained him when it'd been applied. Riot possessed notably fewer.

Satisfied, Zihrait flicked a hand towards the hold and she pensively stood, relieved when he did so as well and followed her into the back.

Lola had finished stapling the wound to Riot's throat and moved onto the jagged mouthful which had been ripped from his trapezoid. She glanced up as her nimble fingers continued to work, stuffing the crude injury full of gauze and then reaching into her bag for bandaging. "Well?"

"He's here, stick a needle in him." It hadn't escaped Pheist's notice Zihrait had failed to actually agree to supply blood, but she saw no other reason he'd have left the cockpit. Aware he was standing behind her, she stepped aside and motioned him towards Lola. He went over and lowered himself to sit. She noted that he never, not once, turned his gaze towards Riot.

"Come finish wrapping this, kid," Lola's order snapped her from her observations.

She was passed the roll of bandages and set her mind to the task at hand, winding it securely up over the mound of gauze and back down beneath Riot's pit, lifting his arm in order to do so, and gnawing her lip at how much heat had fled from his body.

Lola was nothing if not efficient. She produced the necessary supplies and had a fluid bag filling with Zihrait's blood before Pheist was done bandaging. Without even waiting to fully acquire what she needed from the Hunter, she rigged another line into a vein in Riot's arm and began forcing blood through it by squeezing the bag.

Stretching her hand across his barely mobile chest, Pheist pressed it over his hearts. Their beats felt irregular and faint against her sticky palm and she frowned down at the gore coating her arm.

"Just a waiting game now," Lola muttered as she continued feeding Zihrait's blood into Riot's body.

* * *

"What'd you promise him?"

Blinking, Pheist realized she'd been on the verge of dozing off. She looked across the dim space to where Lola sat in one of the seats, eyes closed. She'd forced as much blood as Zihrait was willing to part with into Riot's veins and had declared his prognosis 'a snowball's chance in hell' after their donor had had enough and torn the catheter from his arm and returned to the cockpit. Pheist knew what snow was, but the space habs certainly didn't receive any. Their artificial climates were controlled. She shifted on the deck where she sat propped against the craft's interior beside an as yet unconscious Riot and rubbed her cramping neck. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't let me siphon off his blood without getting somethin' out of it. I told you, they don't believe in that sort of intervention. You offered him somethin' and he must've figured it was worth a few pints."

"You could have mentioned that when you sent me to convince him," Pheist couldn't help grumbling. She'd wasted time Riot hadn't had much of getting that sorted out.

"I was busy."

"Why'd you come?" That was bothering her. Lola had seemed prepared to allow Riot to die and had advised her to accept it. The about-face didn't seem in keeping with her character.

"I was… persuaded," Lola answered cryptically.

Pheist rolled her eyes. "By what?" She hadn't seemed moved at all by Pheist's pleas.

"You didn't tell me what you offered him."

"You first."

This shut her up.

Pheist turned her attention to the inert mass next to her. She clumsily felt for his heartbeats again. They seemed… stronger. Maybe? Was it wishful thinking? He was still cool - downright cold compared to the heat normally radiating from his smooth hide. Allowing her fingers to glide across his chest, she trailed them up over the bandaging around his neck securing gauze squares to the stapled punctures. His mandibles hung lax in a way they never did, not even in sleep. "What happened back there?" she heard herself mumble.

"Power struggle," Lola supplied, and Pheist expected the vague response to be the end of it. But she went on. "Clan Leaders get challenged when the others perceive weakness. Could be O'joath didn't trust Thwo'stba anymore, could be he just figured he was stronger."

"Why wouldn't he trust Thwo'stba?" Since Lola had offered it as a possibility, Pheist suspected there was something to the statement.

"Not everyone was happy about O-T'ih'ka bringin' you aboard."

"And Thwo'stba supported him?" She'd never witnessed the two interact. Then again, Riot had often left her alone in his quarters at first. He could very well have been meeting with his mentor.

"Thwo'stba… understood."

"Understood what?"

"Why Riot took you on. Why he wanted to train you."

Pheist considered this. She didn't know why Lola was being so forthcoming all of a sudden and it made her uneasy. "You told me he isn't like the rest." Combing her fingers through Riot's dreads, she pushed them through to the roots and gently rubbed.

Lola released what sounded like a weary sigh. "Come here."

Brow drifting up, Pheist watched her reach down for the duffle she'd tucked protectively under her seat. She pulled out the battered mobile PC Pheist remembered from the armory and opened the screen, turning it on. This drew Pheist over to the chair across from Lola's. She sat in silence as the other woman input a passcode and a picture filled the display of a visibly younger Lola and a man, his arm slung around her shoulders. They were smiling. Lola was smiling. Pheist felt like she'd entered an alternate universe. Lola could smile?

Fingers tripping over the keyboard, said enigma opened a file and a video began to play. She turned the laptop towards Pheist.

A dark-skinned woman was pacing around a small room in a robe of the same style Pheist currently wore, the difference being the front of this woman's robe was stretched wide across her distended abdomen. She was panting and groaning, her black braids swinging as she went in circles, clearly agitated.

"What… is this?"

"One of the worst days of my life," Lola answered candidly, her voice dull. She wasn't looking at the video. "Her name was Alexa Woods. From what I know, she was leading a team of scientists when they ran across a Xenomorph hive somewhere near Antarctica. Probably would have died with the rest of them if not for the three young males who were there to clear it out as their Blooding ritual. Two of 'em failed. But she survived, impressed the last Yautja - she called him Scar - and he marked her as Blooded. They killed the queen together, but he was pretty banged up and didn't make it."

As Lola spoke, Pheist watched the woman - Alexa - progress from pacing and groaning to gripping the edge of the metal table in the centre of the room and wailing. A second woman entered and went to her, helped her onto the table. It was Lola.

"When the Clan turned up to collect the males, they found Lex and Scar's body. It was Thwo'stba who saw the Blooding mark on her and gave her a combistick in recognition of her grit. They took Scar and left."

Pheist was frowning at the display as Lex writhed and convulsed on the table while Lola stood beside her, trying to get an IV set up, it seemed like. Her movements were far from steady. She looked panicked.

"I still don't know how _he_ figured it out, but the company those scientists had worked for that Lex had taken the job with - they kept tabs on her after that, being the sole survivor and all. I'd just started my internship with 'em when they brought her in. She was pregnant - with a Yautja hybrid, was the theory - and mad as hell. Hadn't come along willingly, I gathered, but they paid me to keep my yap shut and monitor her. Which I did. Should have told 'em where to shove their money and found myself another gig…" Lola ran a hand over her face. "Thwo'stba came back for Lex. He… killed a lot of people. A lot. We were holed up together in an exam room when he found us. Dunno if it was the plan or not, but he took me along with her."

A pit had opened in Pheist's stomach at the revelation. She hadn't even considered the possibility of… She'd assumed humans and Yautja were too genetically dissimilar to be able to reproduce. Hadn't spared it a moment's thought. Of course, the shots the UAA forced on them ensured she'd remain sterile, at least for the next six months. But still…

Lola's hand dropped down, shutting off the video after Lex produced a particularly bone chilling scream. "She didn't make it. We might be genetically compatible, but I'm not convinced a human body can handle delivering a hybrid. Lex was a fighter and she couldn't hack it."

Pheist stared at the smiling Lola in the picture. "What about…?"

"Yai'sa." She closed the laptop and busied herself with returning it to the duffle. "Thwo'stba gave her to the 'aseigan to rear. Truth be told, I don't think he expected her to survive. Got the feelin' it was a kind of duty that made him come back for Lex. Maybe because she was Blooded, dunno. Anyway, Yai'sa grew - way faster than a normal pup. Yautja younglings take a while to mature. She was wild, too, but the 'aseigan did that to her. Treated her like an animal because of what she was. The other females, too. I stayed out of their way, mostly, but one day… they beat me half to death for interferin'. It was stupid luck Thwo'stba came by. Males don't concern themselves with female affairs, don't even poke their noses around that side of the ship usually. But he did. When he saw how feisty Yai'sa'd grown up to be, he started training her. The others didn't like it, but the ones who challenged him didn't stand a chance. Then Yai'sa started huntin' - she was a natural. Brought back trophy after trophy. It didn't endear her to anyone. She was arrogant as any of the Young Bloods, and smarter than 'em to boot. She was cunning. Never met a problem she couldn't solve, that one. And there was no prey she was better at killin' than humans." Lola must have noticed the look of startlement that passed over her features, because she paused. "She never knew her momma. She was raised as a Yautja. Bein' a half-blood, bein' hated for it - it made her hate us. I'm sure it did. Her trophy wall was filled with skulls. She showed it to me once. Wanted to see how I'd react."

"Sounds like a real charmer."

"No, she could give a shit about the males apart from lording it over 'em when she brought back bigger or better trophies than they did. She was a Hunter. Doubt she ever would have batted an eye at one of 'em exceptin' Vechaath."

Pheist felt her next inhalation become clogged in her throat.

"He was part of a different clan, an Elite - one of their most revered. Joined Thwo'stba on a ceremonial hunt in order to strengthen bonds between the clans, and that was when Yai'sa clapped eyes on him first. She was a born competitor and couldn't stomach bein' showed up by some jumped up male from another clan. Did her damndest to outshine him, but all she wound up doin' was piquing his interest. The other males caught wind of it and suddenly they were all scrappin' over her, wanting to be the one to sire a pup on her. First thing that ever scared Yai'sa, I think. She wasn't like the other females, they come into season twice a year. She cycled every month or so, like a human. Drove the males to distraction. They pursued her relentlessly, got violent with her. She wasn't safe anywhere on the ship, the females wouldn't let her hide out with them, so I guess she realized she had to go with the lesser of evils. Let Vechaath have her just to put an end to it all. But she wasn't mothering material. Survived the birth alright - she was tough as nails and built more like one of them than us - but bein' cooped up with a pup wasn't for her. Upped one day and left to hunt. Never came back that time. Thwo'stba went himself to find her, brought back her body. He learned from the first time. Gave the pup to a female who'd just lost her own, one of the more biddable gals. She reared him until she got pregnant with another, was good to him. Better than Yai'sa could have been. I don't know Thwo'stba wanted to train another, he took Yai'sa's death hard - as hard as Yautja are permitted - but he took O-T'ih'ka back and trained him."

Pheist realized Lola was looking over at Riot when she finished. There were too many thoughts clamouring for attention in her mind. He was a hybrid. He was 1/4 human. She digested that, or tried to. Then something else occurred to her. "You were abducted from Earth. That must have been…" Earth had been abandoned to the Xenomorph infestation long before Pheist was born. Before _her_ mother had been born, even.

"94 years ago." Lola's gaze shifted back to her, unreadable.

"You can't be that old," Pheist blurted in astonishment.

"Turns out I can."

She was about to challenge the other woman on how this was possible when the sound of talons scraping across the metal deck plates interrupted. Her eyes shot to Riot once more to find his hand had indeed moved. She rushed from the seat back to his side. "Riot? Can you hear me?"

His mandibles flexed weakly, but he made no other response.

It was enough. She told herself it was enough.


	22. 22

Shifting as her stomach rumbled another complaint, Pheist wrinkled her nose. She looked towards where Lola rested in her seat, eyes closed. Was it worth asking if she'd packed anything edible in her duffle? After that little share-fest, she'd checked Riot's vitals and announced her intention to 'grab a few winks'. It'd been hours since then - at least seven or eight, surely.

The ship was silent apart from the steady hum of the thrusters. Zihrait would have easily overheard everything with his sensitive hearing. She supposed he must have already known most, if not all, of it. Depending on how old he was, he may have even been familiar with Yai'sa. He was Vechaath's student. Did that mean he was from the other clan Lola had mentioned as well? It seemed the more Pheist learned, the more questions she was left with.

Her gaze dropped to Riot and she passed her fingers over his jaw and down a lower mandible, which twitched in reaction. That was an improvement, right? His hearts seemed to be thudding a steady rhythm, if a little slow. She sighed and spread his dreads across her lap, singling out those with the rounded beads clasped to them. Did they signify achievements? Status? Why did Zihrait have so many more? Was it because Riot was an outcast as a hybrid? She reached up to the bead tangled in her own hair and her lips twisted. Riot was going to be furious when he saw it, she didn't need to understand the significance to know this. She contemplated removing it, but didn't dare. While Riot was so vulnerable, she couldn't risk alienating Zihrait. And she suspected he would be just as furious as Riot, even if he seemed more even tempered on the surface. He'd given her the bead as part of a deal. She wouldn't take it out until she'd kept up her end of the bargain. It only seemed fair.

The deck dipped as the craft angled forwards slowly. The familiar noise of breaking atmosphere filled the cabin and Lola stirred, yawning as she knuckled her eye sockets. "Guess we're here."

"Where?"

"Dunno. Wherever he chose." She bent down, felt around inside the duffle and pulled out a canteen.

Pheist's throat tightened.

Lola took a few swallows, eyed her while returning the cap, then drew out a second canteen and tossed it over.

"You're not terrible all the time," Pheist decided after downing half the contents. Water would fill her belly and cut back on the hunger pains. She attempted to help Riot to drink some, but most of it ended up on the deck. Contending with tusks and inner fangs was not for the faint of heart. When she glanced back up, finding it odd Lola hadn't offered a rejoinder, she caught the troubled look in the other woman's clear blue eyes. It, like the smile, was not an expression she'd seen cross Lola's face before.

Turbulence jolted the ship, and Lola looked towards the front.

Pheist slid closer to Riot, hoping the ride didn't become too bumpy and that Zihrait was half as capable a pilot as he was. It was only a few more minutes and they levelled off again, decelerating. Would the planet the Hunter had chosen be safe? Would the atmosphere be breathable? She plucked at her stained robe and felt a pang of longing for her combistick. She had nothing. No armor. No weapon. And she'd offered Zihrait to hunt with him. Even if he didn't have armor stored anywhere on the craft, he was Yautja - never unarmed. His talons, his fists, his fangs, his strength and agility were all finely adapted weapons.

The ship settled with minimal bumpiness experienced and she listened as the engine noise faded away. Her apprehension mounted. She didn't know what Zihrait was going to do when he came back, what he was going to expect, but he definitely had not helped out of the kindness of his heart. She knew that without a doubt now. Would he want her to repay the favour right now?

He appeared from the cockpit without warning, scarlet eyes sweeping from Lola to her. This time they seemed to pause briefly on Riot, but dismissed him just as quickly. _You come._ He moved to the loading door and unlocked it.

"I need to stay with him," she insisted, speaking to get his attention and then signing the same. It didn't matter, he didn't look. She remained where she was.

The ramp lowered and he snarled impatiently when she didn't hop up and join him.

She repeated the message.

 _You come. She stays._ He jerked a talon towards Lola, who was watching the exchange with pursed lips.

"You best run along before you piss him off," she reasoned.

"I'm not leaving Riot."

"You're not doin' him any favours sitting there wringin' your hands and frettin'. Just drawin' more attention to how weak and useless he is."

"He nearly died," Pheist ground out. Of course he was weak, he'd lost almost every drop of blood in his body.

"Doesn't matter. They don't tolerate uselessness. Hurry on, idiot." Lola pushed herself to her feet and cracked her spine. "You can't do nothin' here anyway."

Zihrait growled again, and this time the warning was unmistakable, the ominous sound causing the hair on her arms to stand on end. He could kill Riot, and there would be little enough she could do to stop him. He could kill her, for that matter. But would he, as Lola had pointed out, have thrown away his future so lightly if he truly stood to gain nothing much at all from this?

Rising, she shook the stiffness from her limbs as she frowned down at Riot. He would be fine. Her brain refused to contemplate any alternative. She passed her canteen to Lola. "Try to give him some more."

"Like my fingers attached, thanks."

Figuring Zihrait was about to gut her if she stalled any longer, Pheist padded to his side. She took in their immediate surroundings with a wary eye. The terrain looked open and flat for a good distance in all directions she could see, covered in a blue-gray sand-like substrate dotted with spindly looking thorned trees. Twin suns were sitting low in the azure sky, dark clouds sweeping across them and throwing creeping shadows over everything below. She wrenched her focus back to the silent Yautja. _Can we breathe here?_

He flicked the gesture for affirmative and descended the ramp.

Resigning herself to as much conversation as she'd ever been able to draw from Riot, she followed. The sand was warm under her feet, pleasantly so - as was the ambient temperature.

Zihrait trekked away from the ship without a backward glance. His stride was relaxed, but at the same time controlled. He didn't possess the same easy gait as Riot, his movements all lent the impression of being thoroughly calculated and considered before they were produced. When he noted how she had to keep breaking into a jog to keep him up, he slowed his pace, something Riot never would have done.

She needed to stop comparing them. _Where are we going?_

_To gather._

Her stomach gurgled optimistically in answer and he turned his head, eyes sliding down to her abdomen. _Hungry_ , she signed, embarrassed.

He grunted. _Soon._

Boulders had begun to crop up the further they walked and Pheist's step faltered as she glimpsed what she could have sworn were Yautja symbols on one. Zihrait was familiar with the area, he wasn't erring from the path he'd chosen, so perhaps he'd made them at some point in the past? She continued to follow him, brows climbing as they passed by more and more clusters of rocks adorned by the alien glyphs. The white substance which had been used to paint them was faded and she convinced herself Zihrait must use the planet as a camp or something of that nature. This was reaffirmed when they approached an outcropping of the slate coloured stone beneath which there was a wide gap. A sunken track had been worn into the sand from the passage of many footfalls. The stone itself was decorated similarly to the rest, though the white of the symbols was brighter.

Pausing, Zihrait surveyed the shelter. Making sure no one had taken up residence while he'd been away? He hadn't bothered arming himself, if he even kept any weapons on his ship. He looked again to her, his gaze more intense this time - or was that her imagination? What was he trying to decide?

 _What is here?_ She forced herself not to attempt to rush him.

Instead of responding, he headed to the outcropping and ducked beneath it.

Pheist blinked as he disappeared entirely. It hadn't looked like there was that much space. She trotted after him, peering into the cavern, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she stood speechless. A riot of colours assaulted her vision, swirling across the smooth rock walls and up onto the ceiling in what she could only guess was a rendition of sunset on the planet owing to the two suns being portrayed. Every shade of yellow, orange, red, purple, and blue stretched before her in stunning fashion. Was Zihrait responsible? Were Yautja artistic in this manner? She hadn't seen proof of it, but Riot hadn't brought her to many areas of the cruiser.

The other male wasn't anywhere in sight and she spotted a passage at the back which seemed to lead deeper underground. Vibrant, flowing artwork encompassed her as she crept forward. There wasn't an inch of the tunnel left untouched. It made her head spin to think how long and painstaking the process must have been. Around a bend, the cavern opened up again, and she sucked in a sharp breath at what she saw. The entrancing painting continued around the circumference of the cavity, but it was the woman kneeling on the ground at Zihrait's feet which shocked her. Dozens upon dozens of tiny braids obscured her face, but her frame was small - petite even - and curiously her slender fingers, resting on her knees, were either very dirty or stained dark by something.

Zihrait was snarling, his red eyes darting around the enclosed space. Was the woman an intruder? Pelts had been piled in a corner, and in small nooks and crannies in the craggy walls Pheist noted what appeared to be carvings, little figures of varying shapes. A few were most certainly of Yautja, and one looked human. It didn't seem possible, with his talons, that he would be capable of such fine detail. Was the woman responsible?

When she looked again, said woman had raised her head and was staring at Pheist with what she could only assume was a fair approximation of her own expression.

"Hi… there," she said, awkward.

Zihrait glanced back to her, then down to the human before him, who promptly dropped her gaze. His snarling petered off. That was when she realized the woman was wearing a robe like her own. Her brain stuttered to a halt.

"How…? What are you- what happened? How did you get here?"

The woman's shoulders hunched and she seemed to sink lower. Did she not understand? She had to have been born on one of the habitats, she should know English.

Pheist got closer, and Zihrait hesitated but backed off. She sensed he was unsure about the situation. He was silent, watching them both closely. "Do you understand me?" she asked, trying to soften her voice.

Braids swayed as the woman bobbed her head.

"I'm Pheist." Probably best to start there.

Quiet filled the space for a moment. Then she spoke, or attempted to. She had to pause and clear her throat and Pheist decided it'd probably been a while since she'd had cause to use her voice. It sounded scratchy. "Jaele." She was still staring at the dirt.

Pheist sat down in front of her. She heard Zihrait click slowly. "I take it he brought you here?" There didn't seem another explanation.

Again, Jaele nodded.

"Did you do all this?" She motioned to indicate the walls. Up close, it was obvious Jaele's hands were stained by whatever dyes were present in the colours she'd used.

Another nod.

Pheist turned to Zihrait. _You go._ She had a feeling it was his presence which was contributing to the other woman's reticence.

His mandibles flared at the order and a low growl permeated the air, but it was Jaele who surprised her by shuffling towards him and cowering again at his feet. Almost as though she didn't want him to leave. Zihrait snarled down at her, but made no move to actually harm her.

Considering this, Pheist tried again. _Sit down?_ She tilted her head in the hopes he would see it as more of a suggestion than a demand. Maybe that would soothe his male pride.

At first, Zihrait's snarls increased in volume.

 _Why bring me here?_ Pheist questioned him.

He broke off, hands curling into fists.

A frisson of fear shot up her spine. He wouldn't hurt Jaele, would he? There were no bruises or other marks on her exposed skin to suggest he had in the past.

After a few tense seconds, he lowered himself to sit. His gaze travelled over the slight woman bowing before him, tusks scraping together as his mandibles tightened. _Train her,_ he eventually answered.

Pheist raised a brow. _Me?_

_Yes. You train her._

This wasn't what she'd expected. "Jaele, how long have you been here?"

"I don't know," came the mumbled reply. "A long time."

Odder and odder. _Why not you train her?_

That was the wrong thing to ask, it seemed. Zihrait's thunderous growl echoed around the cavity. His hands chopped through the air in the same impatient manner they had when he'd appeared to help save Riot. _Can't train her. Try many times. Slow, weak, fear._ He glowered down at Jaele.

So, he had a temper as well. "He always this grumpy?" She kept her tone light as she addressed Jaele, trying to draw the other woman out of her shell.

"I displease him."

"How?" All she'd done so far was grovel before him.

"I'm not a warrior."

Zihrait was listening despite the fact he couldn't understand them. Or, Pheist didn't think he could. Riot had been able to ascertain what she'd said sometimes by reading her body language and expressions after he'd grown more accustomed to her.

"Is that all?" She could think of a lot more ways she'd displeased Riot at first.

Jaele had turned her head and was peering over through the curtain of her braids. Curious?

"He wants me to help you," Pheist explained. "But I wouldn't mind hearing how you got here first."

Jaele's hands clasped together and she focused on them. "He came one day to the mine… when they realized what was happening, that we were being hunted, the others locked me in the shaft."

Pheist was floored. "A detention facility?" Mines in the asteroid belts were where the colonies shipped off their derelicts and criminals. Somehow, she had a hard time imagining Jaele fitting into that category.

"I was repairing some programming."

That made more sense. "So he found you."

"I wasn't worthy prey."

Yautja didn't find honour in killing the weak or ill. Humankind had learned this long ago. "But why'd he take you?" If Zihrait hadn't found her worthy of hunting, what value had he seen in taking her? Why try to train her? Jaele was diminutive in stature even by human standards. Not a good prospect for a hunting companion.

"I… don't know."

Well, it seemed simple enough to find out. _Why take her?_

Zihrait almost appeared taken aback by the question. He surged to his feet, knocking Jaele aside as he did so, an outraged roar rippling from his chest.

"Be careful!" Pheist moved to help the other woman upright again, but the Hunter planted himself between them and levelled another deafening threat.

 _You train her_ , he signed savagely.

Eyes narrowed in defiance, Pheist took a moment but did end up gesturing in the affirmative. She was supposed to be appeasing him - until Riot recovered, anyway.

 _Stay here._ With that, he stalked from the cave, leaving them both to stare after him.


	23. 23

**I've fallen down on the pronunciations these past few chapters, sorry!**

**Thwo'stba: Th-woah (1 syllable) + sst-bah (1 syllable) (so 2 syllables total)**

**O'joath: Oh-johth (2 syllables)**

**Jaele: Jail**

**Yai'sa: Ya-eye (1 syllable) + sah (1 syllable) (2 syllables total)**

* * *

"Again."

Jaele's arms were quivering as she swung the stick. It connected with Pheist's at a point far below where she'd been directed to aim then slipped from Jaele's grasp, thudding into the sand between them.

Sweat ran between Pheist's shoulderblades as she bent to retrieve the practice weapon. "We're going to need to stop for now." The twin suns were soaring high by now, glaring down on them without mercy.

Jaele sagged in relief. She retreated to the shade of the overhanging stone and collapsed, the thick mass of braids she'd tied at her back no doubt contributing to her exhaustion. All that hair had to be heavy, it stretched below her waist and glinted golden when under the suns' rays. It was pretty, but not practical. Much like Jaele herself.

Pheist banished such thoughts, uncomfortable with their origins. Jaele was not her mother. For one, she was resilient, or she wouldn't have survived out here in Zihrait's absence. From what little Pheist had been able to glean from her the previous night when she'd been unable to sleep, he visited every once in a while to restock supplies and to attempt to train her. This was the first time he'd brought anyone with him, it seemed.

Shielding her eyes, Pheist panned across the direction in which the ship should be. She wasn't comfortable with being away from Riot and Lola for so long. Did they even have food? Had Lola run out of water by now? Jaele had provided some hard-shelled nuts they'd been obliged to use rocks to crack open and some kind of dried meat the evening before, along with lukewarm water from a skin. That morning, Zihrait had led them an hour away to an oasis of sorts where Jaele had refilled several skins, then gathered huge leafy fronds from a bush into which she'd wrapped various berries and fruits which grew on the trees surrounding the clear pool of water. All the while, Zihrait had stood guard nearby, and when asked if it was because he thought they'd try to escape, Jaele had given her an incredulous look. Apparently dangerous predators patrolled the area, and it was those he was keeping an eye out for. Jaele couldn't come to the oasis alone for that reason. She seemed to believe herself a burden to the Hunter, and truly she was - but Pheist had reminded her that Zihrait only had himself to blame, he'd taken her of his own volition. They'd returned to the cave in silence, eaten, and then Zihrait had instructed Pheist to start training Jaele. He'd disappeared at some point afterwards.

Spotting no sign of him, she sighed and joined Jaele in the relative cool. They shared a skin of water. When she passed it over, Pheist noted the calluses on Jaele's stained hands. "It must've taken you hours to paint all that," she deduced with a nod backwards.

"Many," Jaele agreed in her quiet voice. She hesitated. "He doesn't like it, but I don't know how else to pass the time."

It had to be a lonely existence. Pheist couldn't help frowning. How would she cope? Probably not well. "Why doesn't he like it?"

"I don't know. I think because it's of no value or… I don't know." She fidgeted with the skin when it was handed back. "How do you… you can communicate with him, with your hands?"

Pheist felt her frown deepen. Not only was Jaele out here alone most of the time, when Zihrait did show up, they couldn't understand each other, or at least not well. "It's a sign language they use when hunting sometimes. I can teach you."

They spent the next few hours sheltering from the heat while Pheist showed Jaele how to form as many symbols as she could retain and their various meanings. The petite women's ink stained hands, while small, proved dexterous and expressive. She made the sign language into an art form, a graceful dance of her fingers through the air - and no, Pheist was not envious. Her own hands seemed more suited to wielding weapons, and that was just as well.

Jaele wasn't keen to return to training, but made no complaints. She seemed resolute, if sore. Pheist decided to focus on teaching her how best to avoid attacks, how to evade and retreat without presenting an easy target. Zihrait had to understand Jaele would never be an offensive-style combatant. But maybe she could learn to survive and escape an encounter with a predator, and to hunt small prey for food or such. Pheist couldn't envision Jaele stalking humans, nor the insectoid Riot had challenged her with on their first hunt.

They'd just paused for water, ducking under the outcropping, when a shadow fell across the sand outside. Pheist assumed it to be Zihrait returning, but the way Jaele stiffened beside her made her reconsider. It was tall, but a thin appendage swayed slowly from side to side about halfway down. A tail? Definitely not Zihrait, then.

Jaele gripped her arm and tugged her back towards the passage urgently, honey coloured eyes wide in fear.

Pheist eased back with her, wondering if they could hide and elude detection, but the vain hope vanished as the creature leapt down from its perch atop the stones.

Its scales reflected the light as it turned on two powerful rear legs which came equipped with long and curved black claws. A tongue flicked out, testing the air, and two sets of slitted eyes flashed. The long tail stilled. It hissed.

"Go, go!" Shoving Jaele into the tunnel, Pheist snatched up her stick and backpedaled.

The reptilian beast pulled back its lips to reveal barbed teeth as it lunged into the space beneath the outcropping. Unfortunately, it wasn't so large so as not to fit.

Whipping the stick across, Pheist cracked it soundly on the muzzle as she followed Jaele into the passage, which was narrower and should prove more difficult for it to squeeze into. Shrieking in indignance, it snapped and caught her second swipe, ripping the makeshift weapon from her grasp.

Pheist ran. She could hear it pursuing, clawed feet kicking up sand, and then a meaty thud as it presumably collided with the ceiling or walls. Another shriek which tore at her eardrums, then the distinct scrape of claws on rock.

Retreating fully into the cave, she glanced to a panting Jaele. "Is there another way out?"

Jaele threw her hand towards a pelt which had been pegged to the wall and when Pheist investigated, she found a much tighter tunnel hidden behind it. "We can't go out there, they hunt in packs," she insisted.

Letting the hide fall back, Pheist turned around. The scuffling in the outer passage had died away. If it couldn't get inside, they would just have to wait it out, she supposed. After her last experience inside a confined space, she wasn't much in love with the idea of traversing the smaller tunnel anyway. It was nowhere near as narrow as that other had been, but her skin crawled just the same. One thing was for certain, Riot wouldn't be turning up to save her ass this time.

Jaele had sunk down onto the pile of furs, knees pulled into her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them.

"Have they come here before?"

She nodded. "Sometimes…"

Sometimes when she was alone, Pheist inferred. Defenseless and unable to do anything but sit inside the cave, it must be unnerving. She tried again to make sense of why Zihrait had been compelled to take Jaele. He'd reacted poorly to having the subject broached. "Don't guess there are any weapons down here?"

Jaele's bottom lip was drawn between her teeth.

"It might save our lives," Pheist pointed out at her apparent indecision.

Peeling back some of the pelts, she dragged out a knife - or what probably amounted to one for a Yautja. In her tiny hands it looked monstrous.

Pheist took it, hefted the weight, and swung it experimentally. It didn't feel as natural as her bowie, but it was lighter than she'd expected and was better than nothing.

Dust sprinkled down from overhead as thumps carried across the stone above. A shriek - no, a chorus of shrieks - rent the quiet outside, answered by a familiar enough bellow.

"How many of them in a pack?" she demanded, uncertain whether Zihrait could face the creatures down alone or not, especially if he remained without his equipment.

"I don't know, I've s-seen six."

Pheist cursed. "Stay here." She would probably regret this. Carefully making her way down the passage, past the furrows the retilian's claws had left across Jaele's painting, she gripped the blade tight. Snarls, hisses, and the clack of fanged jaws snapping together grew louder.

Then a shout.

Lola?

Rushing ahead, she whipped her eyes from side to side as she burst from the shelter of the overhang.

Zihrait was surrounded by three of the formidable beasts while another lay with its guts spilled close by, dying noisily. A dozen steps away, Lola stood next to a hunched Riot, who was growling at a fifth as it circled them.

Awake - he was awake!

Pheist ran as fast as her legs would carry her over the shifting sands, throwing herself beneath the lash of the tail of the creature who was harassing them and scoring it with the knife as she rolled back to her feet.

Jerking back, it screamed at the assault.

"Where the hell've you been?"

"Here and there," Pheist said, chancing a glance down at Riot. His knee was splinted, but he wasn't putting weight on that leg, and didn't seem all that steady. Her attention jolted back to more pressing matters as the reptile darted in, maw wide. She brought the blade to bear again, slashing to stave off the razor teeth, and it checked itself at the last moment, pivoting and striking instead with its thin tail. The appendage caught her in the thigh and, to her astonishment, coiled around it as she stumbled, then yanked her off balance. One of its wickedly clawed feet lifted to rake her, but returned to the sand as one of its packmates collided with it suddenly.

Pheist was wrenched down as the two beasts tumbled onto the ground. Much hissing and shrieking ensued as they fought to be the first to rise, then one was hauled violently aside. She plunged the knife into the tail still wrapped around her leg and scrambled up as it released her. Its owner threw another scream at her, then sprinted away. Breathing hard, she cast a look around, confused about why it'd fled until she noticed none of its pack remained upright.

Zihrait had dispatched the three he'd been engaged with, it seemed, and the one who'd collided with hers lay unmoving in the sand beside Riot, its head twisted at an unnatural angle. He slumped down onto all fours in exhaustion before her eyes and she hurried to him.

"Lola?"

"I'm fine," came the terse but frazzled response.

Kneeling, Pheist pressed her forehead to Riot's. She dropped the knife, tangling her hands in his dreads and doing her best to slow her heart rate. "Hey again, tall and dark. You gave me a bit of a scare."

A worrisome rattle accompanied his exhalations, but he chuffed in response. His warm golden eyes tracked over her as she leaned back a little to take him in and a lower mandible lightly tickled her neck.

"Pheist?"

She turned at the sound of Jaele's voice, but didn't get the opportunity to respond as Zihrait's snarl precluded anything she might have said. He didn't let up until the small blond retreated back inside the cave.

"Been makin' friends, I see," Lola drawled, having composed herself somewhat. She was dusting sand from her clothes and worn duffle.

"Some of us aren't always bitches."

She snorted. "Best get him inside before he passes out again."

Right. Pheist tucked the knife into her belt and got up, stooping to pull Riot's heavy arm around her shoulders. By some miracle, he got his feet beneath him and hobbled the distance to the cavern. Inside, she helped ease him down again after borrowing a couple of the furs from Jaele's pile with her blessing. She'd spread them on the floor with a wary but intrigued eye on Riot, then scurried to the opposite side of the space when Zihrait entered.

Riot groaned as he sat, a shuddering pained noise which made Pheist's heart clench in sympathy. She fetched one of the water skins and was pleased to see him drink most of it.

"Here." Lola had been rummaging in her bag and threw over a roll of bandages. "Time to change 'em out, see what's what."

From the corner of her eye, Pheist could see Jaele watching with interest as she unwound the bandages from Riot's shoulder and neck. "I could use a hand," she mentioned, tossing the soiled gauze aside. Learning to doctor wounds would be a useful skill for Jaele since she was out here alone so often.

Jaele's alarmed gaze rocketed to where Zihrait crouched, wiping off the curved blade he'd been wielding against the reptiles. He was still armorless, so this seemed to be a spare weapon he'd retrieved from the ship.

"Riot won't hurt you." She didn't get the feeling that was Jaele's concern, but the woman waffled for a few moments longer and then edged over. Pheist felt her lips quirk when Riot's sharp eyes shifted to the new face and he clicked speculatively. "Jaele," she informed him, motioning to the other woman. "She's a real picture, hmm? Too bad you stumbled across me first."

He rumbled softly and Jaele gasped. "He understands English?"

"Pretends he does to humour me half the time. Other half he just ignores me." She glanced back. "Did you wanna look at this?"

"Does it stink?" Lola replied.

Pheist raised a brow. "No."

"Anything funny lookin' coming out of it?"

"I'll wrap it back up," Pheist decided in exasperation.

Lola did look tired. She'd settled down on the floor, using her duffle as a pillow, and was massaging her temples. If she was as old as she claimed to be… well, she had a right to be tired. The trek across the sand in the heat toting that bag had probably taken a lot out of her, her limp had certainly seemed more pronounced.

The injuries didn't look worse, even if they didn't precisely look better either. Pheist started to wind the new bandage around his neck, lifting his dreads out of the way as she did so, and huffed a laugh at his encouraging purrs. "Someone's getting needy."

"What is that noise?" Jaele inquired shyly.

"Something he does when he's… content. Or when he's trying to comfort me." She slid one of the tubules through her fingers. "They're really sensitive. He pretty much melts into a puddle at my feet when I play with them."

"Oh?"

Pheist shrugged and moved on to re-bandaging his shoulder. "No idea if they're all like that or if it's a Riot thing." He did have his peculiarities.

Jaele was chewing her lip again. "I… Riot?"

"Just what I call him. It's easier than his name."

Zihrait straightened and approached, prompting Riot to tense and issue a warning growl. He attempted to rise, but Pheist did so instead and laid one hand on the knife hilt as she signed with the other. _Stay back_.

Spreading his tusks in affront, Zihrait fixed a baleful stare onto her but stopped. His gaze fell to Jaele and he chuffed.

"He wants you to go with him," Pheist deciphered. She gave the blond's arm a squeeze when she got up obediently. "Remember the hand signs." Hopefully they would help. Zihrait was not Riot, and Pheist didn't believe he'd taken Jaele with the expectation of molding her into a hunting partner, but he wanted something of her. Communicating with him would be the only way to figure out what that was. She watched the two leave.

"What's her story?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Shooting Lola a smug look, she knelt beside Riot again and finished changing his bandages. "What about his leg?"

"I stabilized it. Not much more can be done out here." Lola's eyes were drooping.

"Get some sleep." Pheist smiled when Riot fingered the blade she wore, trilling in approval. Probably more of the way she'd stood up to Zihrait than of the knife itself. "Thanks for looking after him…"

"Owe him a thing or two," Lola murmured, then rolled over.

His mandibles were still held tensely, a physical manifestation of the pain he was surely in, but the fact he was interacting with her was of immense relief. Seeing him unconscious had been devastating. He was surveying the cave, resting back against the wall, his posture suggesting he was fatigued in body more than mind.

_Hungry?_

He flicked a hand in the negative.

 _Sleep,_ she urged him. He needed the rest after what he'd been through. When he made no move to comply, she stretched out on the furs herself and patted them, enticing him to join her.

With a grumble which might have been as much to hide his discomfort as show his displeasure, he readjusted himself to lay down and even suffered her to curl in close against his side. Despite his grumbles, it wasn't long before his breathing evened out in sleep. She laid there listening, pressed into his warmth. Every now and then it seemed to falter if he inhaled too deeply and she squeezed her eyes shut with a small sigh, overwhelmed by all of the stress of the past 24 hours.

Things would get better.


	24. 24

Listening to the meat of the reptilian beasts crackle and spit over the flames, Pheist tried not to dwell on the equally fiery row she'd had with Riot when he'd woken her from her nap by nearly ripping her scalp from her head. She'd known he would notice the bead, but in the aftermath of the attack it'd completely slipped her mind.

Setting down the spear she'd set herself to making to distract herself, she stretched her neck and rubbed her still tender scalp. Her poor, abused eardrums were ringing even now. Riot had never directed that kind of fury towards her before. She'd been more than a little worried he'd hurt her - not maliciously, but without thought for how much stronger he was, even injured. He hadn't, but it wasn't a comfortable feeling, being at odds with him. She'd tried to explain, as best she could, that she had made the deal to save him. It hadn't seemed to matter. She suspected the rage had, at its most basic form, stemmed from a sense of betrayal on her part. It was frustrating, and she'd been grateful that Zihrait - outside carving up the reptiles - had ignored all of Riot's bellowing, as she had no doubt they'd been challenges.

Males, it turned out, of any species, were all thick-skulled idiots.

Jaele sat tending the fire, her restless hands cracking the fuel Pheist had helped her gather into smaller sticks and adding them. She hadn't spoken much, perhaps guessing her companion wasn't in any fit mood for conversation.

She couldn't hear Zihrait out there in the darkness any longer and dragged the makeshift spear back into her lap. It wasn't likely he would have strayed far, but still.

Pulling a hunk of the sizzling pale meat from the embers, Jaele dropped it onto one of the large fronds the berries had been wrapped in and held it out towards her. "For Riot," she explained.

Pheist almost told her she'd be better off bringing it to him herself, but Jaele wouldn't be comfortable with that. And it was cowardly, besides. "I don't really want to leave you out here alone."

"I'm not alone," she assured.

Pheist passed her gaze around their surroundings again. She squinted, then wrinkled her nose. "How do you know?" If Zihrait was out there, he was silent.

Jaele offered a small shrug. "I don't know. But I do."

Accepting the meat, Pheist got up slowly, planting the butt of the spear to help. Her groin twinged from being hauled around by her leg - the same from her ordeal with the insectoid, unfortunately - and she sucked in a quick breath as the glow from the fire suddenly fell across Zihrait's soft green hide. She had to remember, even without active camouflage, Yautja were capable of moving about undetected. He clicked while taking in the weapon she'd fashioned by tying the knife to a sturdy stick using strips Jaele had sliced from one of the pelts for her, then settled by the cookfire.

It was as Pheist was moving through the dark passage into the cave that something bumped into her.

"Christ, you scared me," Lola snapped.

" _You_ walked into _me_." Pheist moved the spear to avoid inadvertently prodding her. "Food's ready, go get some."

Lola muttered something as she continued on, feeling her way along the painted walls.

A low rumble greeted her as she stepped into the open cavity, not a welcoming one.

"Stop it, or you can drag your ass outside to get your own meal." Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the lack of light and she carefully made her way over to where Riot sat. She could hear his subtle inhalations as he scented the food she carried. Kneeling on the edge of the fur, she set it down between them, a sort of peace offering.

Riot grunted and continued to stare at her. Of course he'd be obstinate.

Pheist set the spear aside lest she be tempted to swat him with it. She tore a piece from the slab of stringy meat, having to juggle it between her fingers as she blew on it to cool it off. Instead of eating it, however, she leaned in and presented it to him, expecting the suspicious snarl this prompted. Knowing what she did of male and female Yautja interactions, she doubted this was normal. But she wasn't Yautja, and Riot had accepted other 'oddities' from her, so she waited.

His head cocked slightly and he reached up for the meat, but she stopped his taloned hand with her own.

"Let me."

Another snarl, this one more in consternation. It didn't really occur to her to wonder when or how she'd come to be able to discern one noise from the other, but perhaps if it had she'd write some of it off to the human portion of his DNA. Riot seemed easier to read than other Yautja. To her, anyway.

His mandibles had drawn in as he tried to make sense of the situation and she lightly traced his jaw, coaxing them to part. A rush of triumph filled her when he finally allowed her to place the meat in his mouth. The spontaneous exercise proved, despite his anger, he still trusted her. She fed them both, giving him by far the bigger share, and was beyond satisfied by the simple pleasure of being permitted to do so.

When the meal was gone and they'd together emptied another of the water skins, she slid astride him and began massaging his scalp. His deep reverberations flowed through her flesh and bones to her very core, calming any remnants of discord from their earlier altercation. She considered asking him about the beads, what they represented, but didn't want to disturb the peace by reminding him of the one belonging to Zihrait clasped in her hair.

Unlike previous occasions, his eyes did not close in relaxation, but seemed to bore into her, imparting a message she wasn't certain she understood. In the utter blackness of the interior of the cave, their golden depths at times seemed lit from within.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she mumbled, enthralled by his intense gaze.

As though in answer, the cadence of his purring swelled, stirring tendrils of desire. His hands encircled her thighs, pulling her into contact with the very hard evidence of his own arousal.

"Riot." He was injured. More than that, anyone could come inside at any moment. She tried to ease back away from him, to no avail. His grip just tightened. A growl laced through the rumbling vibrations. He wasn't going to let her go. Rather than frustrate her, to her dismay, she realized it only made her want him more.

His talons skimmed over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he disentangled her robe from between them. Her own hands dropped to his arms, fingers digging into his biceps, feeling the play of the corded muscles beneath his hide as he freed himself from his loincloth. She swallowed convulsively when his hot member pierced her, his firm grasp on her hips yanking her down until he was fully seated within her. It burned and throbbed and she fidgeted, searching for a better angle while his purrs rolled over her. He gave her only a moment to adjust before lifting her, starting a slow but powerful rhythm of deep thrusts.

Pheist clenched her teeth together to prevent any obvious sounds from drifting outside to the others, even if Zihrait would probably understand from the noise Riot was making alone what was going on. She flexed her legs, attempting to absorb some of the pressure of his hard strokes, but otherwise accepting he was the one directing the pace this time. And while it wasn't gentle, pleasure built inside her just the same, tightening her abdominals and pooling where their bodies joined. Just as she felt herself teetering on the edge of orgasm, Riot ducked his head, seeking out her neck. His tusks scraped over her collarbone, then pinched an instant before a searing pain bloomed, combining with the ecstasy of climax in a terrible and consuming sensation which left her gasping and clinging to him as he shuddered in his own release.

She blinked as coherent thought returned, the gentle tug of his fangs leaving her flesh pulling her back to reality. "Did you just _bite_ me?!" she hissed, panting.

Lifting his head, she saw that her blood did indeed stain his teeth. There also wasn't an ounce of remorse visible in his features as he rumbled in answer.

Fingers clumsily felt the area, coming away tinged crimson, but barely. It'd hurt like a bitch, but she knew he hadn't bitten her hard, or like his shoulder, she'd be missing a fair sized chunk from her neck.

He watched her as his own breathing slowed then lifted a hand from her hip and signed one single word. _Mine._

* * *

Deep or not, it fucking hurt. She ran her fingertips over the tender skin as she crouched in the pool of tepid water at the heart of the oasis the following morning.

Jaele had waded further out, her long braids curtaining her bared upper body as she splashed herself free of the sweat and dust of their earlier training session. She hadn't fared much better this time around. She was small and decently agile, but she was also weak.

Not for the first time, Pheist's gaze wandered to Zihrait as she pondered what had caused him to claim the petite woman. If he was attracted to her, he didn't show his interest, never watching with anything more than critical appraisal. He gave up very few clues as to his motives for anything, in fact. The previous night he'd absolutely avoided returning to the shelter of the cave to rest and had snarled at Pheist when she'd found him outside as the suns had been rising over the blue-gray sand dunes and kept his distance from her until he'd deigned to accompany them to the oasis.

"Have you had much luck with the hand signs?" she asked, curious if perhaps Jaele had learned anything.

Wringing excess water from her hair, Jaele kept her eyes lowered to her own blurred reflection on its surface. "He uses them to tell me what he wants me to do now, it's easier."

"You don't have to do what he says, you know. You're not his slave." Except that was precisely the role Jaele had unwittingly placed herself in. "Yautja have 'aseigan for that. They're the rejects, more or less. Not good enough, disgraced parents - it's a big deal. Lola knows more about all that, but anyway, the 'aseigan do all the menial work. He wants you to learn to defend yourself, to hunt, and you haven't been able to do that. So now he's treating you like one of them because he doesn't know what else to do with you." It still didn't explain what purpose Zihrait had foreseen Jaele fulfilling. She was physically the exact opposite of a Yautja Hunter and Pheist now believed, rather than train her to be a warrior, that what he truly wanted was for Jaele to be less vulnerable, a trait his kind disdained.

"I don't understand what I'm supposed to do. I'm not strong enough to fight." She sounded defeated, and Pheist couldn't say she didn't understand why.

"Maybe not, but you can learn not to be such an easy target. You could hunt small game for food so you aren't relying on him for everything," she reasoned, hoping to buoy the other woman. "Look, I don't know what you've been through out here, but I can imagine it's been hell at times. And I haven't seen you fall apart once so far. What happened when he found you in the mine?"

Jaele sank lower in the water. She blew out a small breath before answering. "I just - I froze. I knew I wasn't faster, that I wouldn't be able to hide. I just stood there and waited. I couldn't even scream." She swallowed, eyes darting towards the other side of the rippling pool to where Zihrait stood surveying their surroundings diligently.

"You made an impression on him, for whatever reason, or he would have just left you there. And that's on him, not you. He took you, he needs to tell you why or this isn't going to get any better." She recalled all too well the frustration of her first days with Riot, before she had understood what it was he'd expected of her. The uncertainty had been a kind of perpetual anxiety she wouldn't wish on anyone, even if she hadn't suspected it was his intention to kill her.

"How long have you been with Riot?" Jaele inquired after several stretched out moments.

"I don't know exactly." She'd been unconscious for some of it, and other parts had passed in a haze. "Five or six weeks?" she estimated, the gravity of how little time it had taken for him to make such an impact on her life hitting hard. Was that really all it had been? It definitely felt like much longer.

Jaele's expression was incredulous when she turned. "You learned to fight like that in five weeks?"

Pheist snorted. "No. I'm UAA. Been serving for 8 years now." All things considered, of course, she judged her career was over at this point. Not only had she killed Jones, she'd fled with Riot voluntarily. If she ever went back, they'd court martial her for sure. It wasn't something she'd allowed herself to consider for… a while now. There was nothing to return to.

Looking more deflated than ever, Jaele left the pool and took up her robe, tugging it onto her still wet form. With the rising temperature as the suns climbed higher in the sky, she'd dry soon enough. She sat down, knees drawn up and chin resting atop them.

"Are you afraid of him?" It hadn't seemed that way. The grovelling Pheist had witnessed when Zihrait had first brought her to the cave hadn't seemed to be fear based, but subservient in nature, and apart from growling at Jaele, he didn't appear predisposed to violence.

She shook her head, braids swaying.

"Then you need to show him that," Pheist insisted. "Look him in the eye when you interact. Hold your ground. Don't do what he tells you to all the time, make him understand you're not 'aseigan." She hoped she wasn't encouraging Jaele into behaving in a manner which would result in Zihrait lashing out, but his temper seemed better controlled than Riot's and even the latter hadn't harmed her when piqued. The prime difference being Riot saw her as, if not precisely an equal, certainly not an 'aseigan. Jaele needed to show Zihrait she wasn't 'aseigan either.

"What happened to your neck?" she surprised Pheist by questioning, gaze sideways. She'd probably been wondering all morning. Shockingly, Lola had failed to comment thus far.

"Yautja teeth." Pheist tore up a stalk of scrubby grass. "Think I should bite him back?"

Jaele's eyes widened and then the barest hint of a smile curved her mouth.

"You might as well know we're together. It's not what I expected when this all started, but it is what it is." Why she felt the need to make that clear to Jaele, Pheist wasn't sure. She didn't plan to hide it, but broaching it directly just felt like the right thing to do.

Jaele appeared to be considering it. "When he took you, you didn't know that was what he wanted?"

"I don't know that it was what he wanted then. I'm not sure he knew what he wanted. It was… a truce of sorts, considering the circumstances." Pheist shrugged. "It just happened." She zeroed in on Zihrait again as he bent to examine something which had caught his attention on the ground. Riot hadn't been outwardly attracted to her at first either. She imagined it'd taken time for him to become accustomed to her and for desire to develop. She certainly wouldn't have been receptive to any advances at first. There'd been something about him, yes, but not physical attraction, at least not in the strictest sense of that definition. She'd appreciated him physically; his powerful build, talons, alert and intelligent eyes. Zihrait was similarly impressive, in a quieter and more reserved fashion. His scarlet eyes and pale hide lent him a more exotic quality. "If that's not something you'd be open to, you're going to want to set firm boundaries. Now. Male Yautja can be persistent." Lola's tale of Riot's mother was still fresh in her memory, and he wasn't one to be denied either once he'd decided upon something. She studied Jaele's reaction to the advice, the tensing of her small frame, straightening of her back.

Zihrait, having noticed they'd finished bathing, was approaching. He halted several paces away from where they sat and flicked his hand towards the yet empty skins laying in the dirt.

Pheist reached for her makeshift spear and got up.

Jaele chewed her lower lip in indecision, prompting the Hunter to snarl an impatient warning. She climbed to her feet slowly and gestured with graceful but hesitant movements. _You help._

Well, it wasn't an outright refusal to do his bidding, but close enough Pheist supposed.

Zihrait certainly felt so. His mandibles spread and he stalked closer, the snarl deepening menacingly.

It was a visible struggle for the petite blonde to maintain eye contact and she blinked rapidly, but managed it. _You help_ , she repeated the symbols with more confidence.

Pheist kept her focus on his taloned hands, but Zihrait didn't reach for the curved blade he now wore at his side. Instead, he kicked the water skins in an immature reflex she wouldn't have expected from him, sending them into the pool with a splash. His threatening growls seemed to be edged with something else - uncertainty? Jaele had never stood up to him before. This was a new experience for them both, and Pheist rather thought the other woman was handling it much better than the Yautja. "Tell him again," she encouraged.

Jaele did so. Her posture was still one of timidity, but she was holding her own in the face of the much larger and more imposing alien. She clutched her hands together before herself, her expression appealing rather than demanding. And it was this which Zihrait appeared to be having difficulty with. She wasn't telling him what to do or blatantly refusing to obey, but entreating him to help.

"Don't look away."

The blonde braids were dripping, leaving fat dark stains of moisture on Jaele's ill-fitting robe. She gasped, and Pheist realized Zihrait had moved quicker than she could track, his thumb and fingers circling Jaele's throat, spanning its slight circumference with ease.

Raising the spear, she pointed the knife lashed end towards him, but was reluctant to intervene further. Not only could he snap Jaele's neck before she would be able to do anything, but she didn't get the sense he meant to do any real harm. His talons were hidden by the myriad of wet braids, but he wasn't gripping tightly, she could tell that much. Jaele's shallow breaths were audible, so he wasn't restricting her windpipe.

In fact, as Pheist stood deliberating what to do, the growling faded to a more speculative rumble. Zihrait's tusks relaxed somewhat and clicked as he worked through this dilemma. His red eyes flickered over the woman he towered over, locking onto her ink stained fingers as they crept up to his forearm, grasping with gentle persuasion. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," came the quiet confirmation.

He released her then. Turned and walked into the pool, retrieving the floating skins.

Jaele followed after only a moment and took two from him. Together, they filled them, dipping them beneath the surface and retying the openings.


	25. 25

"I'm going to see if Zihrait can make you a shorter spear, kind of like a javelin. I think you'd find it more natural to manage and it'd be easier to throw and use for hunting." Pheist set aside the dwindling roll of bandaging as she moved on from the wound on Riot's neck, which seemed finally to be knitting together, looking to his leg with no small amount of anxiety. It remained swollen and hot to the touch and he didn't much care for her or Lola messing with it to check that the splint was still doing its job.

"Oh?" Beside her, Jaele was gathering the soiled gauze and wrappings into a pile to be burnt later in the fire. They weren't the sort which could have been sterilized and reused, unfortunately, and the fact Lola's duffle was looking more and more sunken in by the day told Pheist supplies were running low.

Bracing herself for his protests, she reached down to untie the bindings holding the splint in place.

Riot rumbled his displeasure immediately. He caught her arm and yanked her away from the painful limb, causing Jaele to shuffle backwards with wariness.

"Stop," Pheist admonished him, pulling against his hold initially, then grabbing one of his lower mandibles when he failed to release her. She tugged on it, wrenching his head in the process, and drawing a more disgruntled growl. "You know I have to look at it. Stop being a baby." _You_ _whine like a pup,_ she signed for his benefit with her other hand, just to be certain she was getting her point across.

This, predictably, did not assuage him. He snapped at the fingers grasping his tusk and she let go at the peril of losing one of them.

_Stay still or other Hunter will hold you down._

That gave him pause. She wasn't entirely sure he believed her threat, he probably knew Zihrait would never agree to help in such a way - he rarely entered the cave at all anymore - but the thought of her appealing to the other male for aid proved enough of a deterrent. His grumbles subsided and he let her go.

"He's… not like Zihrait," Jaele ventured as she watched Pheist return to Riot's leg and unwind the bindings gingerly.

"No. He's not like most other Yautja." Pheist sensed the small blonde's curiosity over this, but she didn't seem confident enough to question further. "He's still young for their kind." According to Lola, it was Riot's human DNA which had seen him grow and physically mature far faster than his full blooded brethren. But his sense of humour, his at times volatile temper, especially when contrasted with Zihrait's more even temperament, made his youth more obvious. And it was the only explanation she was willing to disclose. Revealing Riot's ancestry wasn't her place. To the best of her knowledge, he still didn't know _she_ was aware of it even. "I'll try to get Zihrait to make those javelins when I'm done here." Best to change the subject.

Jaele had relaxed again, but still hovered at a distance. She'd agreed to supervise when Pheist changed out Riot's bandages at the suggestion the knowledge could be useful in a survival situation, always giving the healing Yautja his space. Pheist attributed the fact Zihrait didn't seem to have a problem with this as being because he didn't see Riot as much of a threat in his current condition. Which was true. Zihrait had dispatched four of those reptilian predators without trouble and was presumably older and therefore more experienced than Riot. She'd never witnessed him face down another of his kind, but Lola had mentioned Vechaath's status as a revered Hunter and that poorly performing students shamed their tutors. It seemed a safe enough bet Zihrait was formidable. And the longer he dismissed Riot as being his equal, the better for her nerves.

Riot looked towards the entrance and movement in the passage outside reached Pheist's less attuned ears moments later.

"How's it looking?" Lola prompted when she walked in, taking in the scene.

"You tell me." Pheist leaned back as the other approached and crouched down, joints snapping audibly.

Their escape from the cruiser and subsequent time in hiding were taking a toll on the older woman. Lola's limp was more pronounced than ever and her clear blue eyes seemed perpetually tired as they travelled over Riot's leg. She poked and prodded his misshapen knee, receiving precious few muted snarls in comparison to what Pheist herself had been subjected to. "Hard to say. They're usually pretty resilient bastards. Might be fine," she pronounced eventually.

Pheist couldn't prevent a frown from pulling her features down. "Might not be?"

Her only answer was a shrug. Lola got up slowly and went to her furs, lowering herself down for a nap. She often took one midafternoon when the suns were at their zenith and the temperature outside the cave was too oppressive to do much else.

Either Zihrait wasn't as bothered by the stifling heat, which seemed likely considering the ambient temperature the cruiser had been kept at, or he found some other shelter close by.

Riot chuffed, bringing her back to herself, and she reaffixed the splint.

Jaele was still sitting silently and Pheist wished now for less of an audience. If Riot's leg didn't heal properly, he wasn't going to be able to defend himself or hunt. Not well, at least. There were already so many things she didn't know; whether Riot was now well and truly an exile from his own kind, whether they could return to the cruiser, what Zihrait's motivations in all this were. Without his ship, they were stranded here, and while the planet had proved habitable, it wasn't where Pheist wanted to spend the rest of her days, however many they might be. She needed to discuss the situation with Riot, but complicated matters weren't easily expressed using the hand signs, the varied meanings of which could often be misinterpreted.

Riot's gaze rested heavily on her and she knew he could sense her turbulent state of mind. Finishing with the bindings, she sat back on her heels to regard him. He was losing weight, laid up like this. His obsidian hide appeared dull, its multihued mottling nearly indistinguishable.

 _Rest_ , she advised him as she pushed up from the ground.

He clicked softly as his golden eyes tracked her movements. She didn't know whether to be pleased or worried about his lack of objection. Stepping closer, she bent to thread her fingers through his dreads and press her lips to his temple. "Get better. Please. I need you to get better," she insisted, feeling his talons scrape against her calves as he released a soothing purr. Easing back before she was lulled into staying by the gentle reverberations, she repeated her insistence that he rest and then turned to Jaele. "Let's find the green guy, then."

Before she spun towards the passage, Pheist could have sworn the other woman was sporting a pretty flush. Following the swaying blonde braids out into the harsh sunlight, she shielded her eyes and panned around, spotting Zihrait in the distance, returning with an armload of fuel for the cookfire. He didn't seem content to sit around idly, but then there hadn't been much for him to do since they'd arrived but stand guard and accompany she and Jaele to the oasis every couple of days.

To Pheist's amusement, Jaele trotted forward to meet him and indicated her intent to help him with his load, which was far less than any Yautja was capable of toting. Zihrait appeared puzzled at first by the offer, but soon gave in and allowed her to take some of the sticks from him. He didn't make much use of the sign language, at least not that Pheist had noticed, but it gave Jaele a means of expressing herself to him.

Once they'd set their burdens down by the charred remnants of the previous night's fire, she approached. _She needs smaller weapon. To throw like this._ Hefting one of the sticks he'd collected, she mimed what she meant, then indicated an approximate length based on Jaele's height. _Can you make it?_

He took the stick, tusks clicking as he turned it in his hands. _Need blade._

Pheist raised a brow. She supposed that'd be the knife she'd borrowed for her spear. She fetched it from the outcropping and untied the lashing, flipping it so the handle faced outwards and holding it out.

Without preamble, he set to work whittling the stick to the appropriate dimensions and carving its end to a wicked point, maneuvering the knife with familiarity and competence. It took no more than ten minutes for him to reproduce the javelin she'd had in mind, and she stood in fascination of the ease with which he did so for the whole ten, Jaele equally as interested in the process, or the one undertaking it. When finished, he thrust the weapon in her direction, his gaze keen.

Jaele accepted it, rolling the smooth shaft between her fingers and raising the tip for inspection.

"How does it feel? Comfortable to grip? Too big?"

"No. It's fine, I think." She presented Zihrait with a tentative smile and made the symbol for gratitude.

Instead of responding, he stalked several paces away and bent to outline a circle in the sand with a talon, then straightened up and chuffed.

Pheist wrinkled her nose. "He wants you to practice." And based on the distance he'd chosen to draw the target, his expectations were a little too lofty. Not wishing to discourage Jaele, she walked out to create a circle of her own, considerably closer. He'd asked her to train Jaele, after all.

Apart from a short rumble of affront, he allowed this modification to be made.

"Go ahead. Arm up over your shoulder like this, square yourself up with the circle," Pheist directed her as she gave the makeshift target a wide berth, not precisely trusting Jaele's aim. As predicted, her first few throws were abysmal. Behind her, Pheist could sense Zihrait's rising impatience in the way his body tensed. She hurried to make some adjustments to Jaele's stance and stood back again, watching with satisfaction as the next half a dozen attempts tracked closer and closer to the circle she'd drawn. "Good. You're getting the hang of it."

 _Again_ , Zihrait signed when Jaele retrieved the javelin but failed to throw it.

She lifted it back up, poised to comply, but then paused. Her honeyed eyes drifted to Pheist, who raised her brows.

"Only if you want to." She didn't have to keep going if she felt she'd had enough of the impromptu session, despite what Zihrait wished.

Looking forward once more, she pulled her arm back and hurled the weapon, striking the target dead in the centre. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock before she managed to blurt, "I did it!"

Pheist was about to congratulate the blonde when she noticed the fierce gleam of Zihrait's eyes as he plucked the javelin from the sand and carried it back to its owner. She stayed put instead, rooted to the spot by shameless inquisitiveness.

Rather than take the weapon he was restoring to her, Jaele reached for the blade he yet held in his other hand, a move which caused Zihrait to jerk his arm back and issue a consternated snarl. Frustration pinched the petite woman's features, but she took the few steps to the pile of sticks for kindling and selected a straight one before returning to him and gesturing to the knife again.

This time, his focus travelled from her face to the stick she held, and he gave her the knife. He cocked his head as she plopped down in the sand and proceeded to jam the handle of the weapon between her thighs and carefully but dexterously drag the stick across the upturned blade, first shaving excess circumference and then fashioning a tip as sharp looking as the one he had.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Pheist backed away while Zihrait sank down onto his haunches to better view her ministrations. She could almost see the thoughts running through his head. Those carvings inside the cavern, of Yautja and man alike, were all Jaele's work. The same work he'd dismissed as being useless. Perhaps he hadn't studied them up close, but with his attentive nature, she doubted that to be the case.

When Jaele held the new javelin up for his inspection, he took it and measured it against his own. They were a perfect match. His considering clicks were soon replaced by an approving rumble. _Have skill._

She could see Jaele struggling with the translation. "He's impressed. That sound - that's what it means. You'll learn." It wasn't a purr, but it was appreciative. She had a feeling learning to interpret Zihrait's body language and the noises he produced would better help Jaele to understand him since he didn't seem inclined to communicate verbally much.

Blushing, Jaele offered the knife back, doing so in such a way that Zihrait's fingers couldn't help brushing her own to accept the weapon.

Pheist smirked at that. So, she was more coy than she let on. Good.


	26. 26

**Just a short one, sorry!**

* * *

The shriek jolted Pheist awake, but it was Riot throwing her off his chest - where'd she'd fallen asleep with her head pillowed - which propelled her into action. He was growling, a feral sound which belied his own agitation as he staggered up from the pelts. Feeling around, she recalled with a silent curse that she'd left Jaele sitting by the cookfire when she'd decided to turn in - the small blonde had been absorbed in her carving, and Zihrait in her.

She'd been using the knife still.

Trusting that Riot's eyes had already adjusted to the pitch black of the cave, she abandoned her search for the spear which was next to useless without the blade attached, and lurched to her feet using his solid body as a reference point. She couldn't see his hands in the dark, so couldn't communicate with him about what he might hear outside - no noise reached her own ears. Not from outside. Inside, she could hear rustling from the direction of Lola's pile of furs.

A light clicked on, illuminating the craggy wall and the voluminous duffle.

"What are you doing, turn that off," Pheist hissed at the same time Riot's rumbling took on a new cadence of disgruntlement.

The light disappeared as suddenly as it'd appeared. "Are you goin' to see what that was about or not?" Lola muttered.

"Just - shut up and don't turn that on again." She blinked several times, seeing spots thanks to the abrupt glare. "Stay here," she said quietly as she planted a hand on Riot's chest and pushed, indicating she didn't want him to follow. The fact he hadn't left the cavern already to investigate spoke to how painful he still found his leg.

The growling cut off and his tusks snapped together. He wasn't pleased about it, but he would listen. She hoped so, anyway.

Easing away from him, she crossed the space to the passage carefully and then slipped down it with her fingers grazing the side to feel the way. At the end, she paused and strained her hearing. Nothing as obvious as the sounds of a predator or a struggle were discernible. She did hear what must be sand shifting beneath someone or something's weight, however. It was faint. The fire had been doused, she could smell smoke, but it was an overcast and thereby starless night. She couldn't see shit.

Something was approaching. The soft rasp of sand shifting increased as it grew closer.

Pheist flattened herself against the wall. There was nowhere to go except back into the cave, and she didn't want to expose Riot or Lola to whatever the hell was happening. She envisioned pouncing onto an unimpressed Zihrait if it was in fact just him lurking, but knew that - while it probably wouldn't end well for her - was wishful thinking. Jaele had screamed. She hadn't imagined that. And Zihrait wouldn't have caused her to do that, neither had Pheist heard him snarl in response to whatever _had_ been the cause. Had another of the two-legged reptiles snuck up and gotten the better of him? One had escaped.

She was about to find out.

Her eyes had adjusted enough that the vague impression of the something materialized at the mouth of the passage, only a few feet from her. She held her breath.

Not a reptile with an elongated tail and razor teeth.

It was a human. With a rifle and wearing armor.

The helmet began to swivel towards her. With night vision enabled, which they surely must, she would stand out from the solid rock like a sore thumb.

Stunned as she was, Pheist reacted. She threw herself into their protected shoulder, knocking aside the muzzle with her eyes squeezed shut preemptively against any flash if the weapon should go off.

It did. She heard the plasma bolt ricochet off the stone wall and her eyes flew open again as her fingers closed around the still warm barrel. An elbow jarringly connected with her ribs, but she held on with tenacity and wedged her foot inside their stance before collapsing down with all her weight, dragging her opponent forward and off balance.

More plasma fire lit up the tunnel and this time it seared her eyeballs even though she was facing the ground. Fortunately, one of the blasts intended for her clipped the person she was grappling with instead and - knowing what she did of the burn of being struck by a plasma bolt - she wasn't surprised the grip on the rifle slackened enough for her to wrench the weapon away. Stumbling back, she hit the trigger, squinting against the flashes of the three blasts which tore into the breastplate of her adversary. Return fire crackled past, blowing chunks from Jaele's mural and blinding her.

Pheist retreated, she had no choice. Her mind was reeling. Humans. Armed and armored humans - were they UAA? What were they doing there? Had they stumbled across Zihrait's ship by chance and come searching? Where were Zihrait and Jaele? Were they dead? How had humans gotten the drop on the experienced Hunter? Why hadn't he put up a fight, why hadn't there been more noise, more warning?

They were pursuing her, shooting the passage full of wildly ricocheting plasma blasts she almost couldn't fall back fast enough to avoid. One singed her hair, it flew by so close.

She kept firing back, holding them at bay as much as she could. She had shown Lola the escape tunnel. Maybe she would be smart enough to make use of it, though Riot would never fit. The trigger locked, indicating the battery of her purloined rifle was spent.

This could not be happening. Not now. Not after she'd just saved his bloody ass from one crisis.

She'd reached the opening of the cave nearly and slipped in and around the side, heart pounding as she put her back to the wall beside the passage. "Riot, get down. You have to get down," she whispered to him urgently, jerking her hand towards the ground in emphasis, knowing he would see her even if she couldn't see him. She flipped the rifle, grasping the barrel to use it in a much more primitive manner than it had been designed - but all she needed to do was club the first one through the passage, stun them enough to get their weapon.

Now that they'd realized she was no longer returning fire, they'd stopped as well. With any luck, they believed they'd gotten her.

She held her breath. Spots still danced throughout her limited vision from the plasma fire - it'd probably burnt holes in her fucking retinas. But she could hear. The telltale hiss of the sand was amplified in the confines of the passage. She waited until she couldn't bear it any longer, the rifle drawn back, primed to swing. As soon as she sensed a presence on the cusp of entering the cavern, she let fly the stock, feeling it connect with force as the shock of the blow ran up her flesh and bone arm.

Something snapped - either the rifle or whatever piece of armor she had struck. She didn't wait to find out which, just drew her make-shift bat back and battered her target a second time. She heard something hit the sand with a dull thud and lunged down for what she desperately hoped was a dropped weapon.

Everything happened at once.

Streaks of plasma fire flew into the cave.

Riot bellowed - had he been hit?

The light flashed on, the unexpectedness of it stunning Pheist just as much as the bright beam itself.

Lola, no.

That was her last thought.


	27. 27

A piercing screech was what she woke to. It rang in her ears, either resulting in or resulting from the throbbing in her head.

From. She'd been hit. The pain had been sharp and her legs had given out. She'd lost consciousness.

There were other noises now - all muffled, all being drowned out by the incessant ringing. The ground shifted beneath her.

No. The deck. It was vibrating with the familiar thrum of a ship.

Her eyes opened slowly, so slowly. She could make out only vague shapes.

Where was Riot? Lola?

Fuck - Lola. The flashlight.

Inhaling deep, even breaths, she mustered her wits and pushed herself up to a half sitting position. Nausea assaulted her senses and she blinked against the dizzy spell which accompanied it.

Another breath. And another.

Her surroundings were coming into focus. Gray metal walls and deck plating. Dim light. A bunk containing one petite blonde.

Pheist lurched up. "Jaele." She managed to lunge for the edge of the bunk and used it to steady herself as she took in the other woman. There was no blood, no nothing. The hem of her robe was tattered in one area, but otherwise she appeared fine. Pheist shook her since calling her name had done nothing.

It took a moment for her to come around, but she did. Her honeyed eyes gazed drowsily up at Pheist for a beat and then widened. She shoved herself up abruptly. "What-? Where are w-we?"

"A human ship. I'm not sure if it's UAA or not." It'd been too dark to see any crests or other identifying markings on their armor. "What happened? How did they get past Zihrait?"

Jaele swallowed. "I don't know, we were- he was sitting beside me one moment, and the next he fell onto me. He was-he was so stiff. Like a statue. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't breathe - he was so heavy. And then he went limp. I-... I must have fainted, I don't remember anything else." She seized Pheist's hand. "Humans? Why? What happened? Where are they - the others?"

"I don't know. I just woke up. I heard you scream and ran into them just outside the passageway. At least four or five, in armor with weapons. I had to fall back to the cavern and I got hit in the head. I'm not sure about Riot or Lola." She wasn't going to entertain the possibility they were dead. None of them. Not until someone showed her a corpse. Whoever the fuck these 'someones' were.

Passing her gaze around the room again, she saw nothing of interest. Nothing that would explain who these people were or what they'd been doing on that planet with ammunition or weapons capable of knocking out a Hunter in the manner Jaele had described. It sounded like some sort of electrically charged round or pulse - not standard issue for the UAA. Then again, neither were using grenades on civilian protestors or slaughtering Yautja females and pups standard protocol, so she couldn't discount the military.

A thunderous roar of indisputable origins filtered past the sealed door, breaking off her chain of thought. Pheist staggered to it and slapped the panel, knowing it was useless but unable to stop herself. "Riot! Riot!"

Banging and thuds outside seemed to indicate an altercation was taking place. Was it possible he was fighting back? That they'd failed to restrain him or knock him out the same way they had Zihrait? More feral growling. More crashing.

"Riot!"

Something cracked against the other side of the door - hard. "Shut your mouth or it'll be shut for you!"

"If you don't want to have your guts shredded you'll let us out of here - I can calm him down!" The shouting was not improving the ringing in her ears. In fact, it was making her feel like she may toss up her last meal, but she had to try.

The door slid open without warning and she was forced to stumble back to avoid tumbling through it. A rifle muzzle was levelled squarely on her, its bearer wearing a scowl in place of his helmet. His armor was smeared in both human and Yautja blood alike, causing her stomach to roil more. "Let me be clear - I will put a hole in you if you so much as blink the wrong way."

"Fair enough," Pheist replied as she touched her fingers delicately to the back of her head. They came away crimson, as she'd expected they would. "What about the other woman, where is she?" There was only one bunk in the room, so maybe that was why they'd located Lola elsewhere. Then again, they'd dumped her onto the floor. But she'd fought back.

"Dead." He jerked the weapon. "Move."

Riot's snarling was rising and falling in volume. He was furious. In pain. She could hear it. But she couldn't move.

"I said- you, back on the bed!"

Jaele must have made to get up. The barrel shifted towards her. It would have been the perfect time to lash out, to attempt to knock the rifle aside, to retaliate and try to get to Riot.

But she couldn't move.

"Hurry it up before I change my mind," their captor snapped. His attention kept darting sidelong, down the corridor.

Something else crashed loudly.

"Pheist - please," Jaele spoke up, imploring.

She took a breath and nodded. Stepped forward carefully, heard the door close behind her, and was directed down the narrow hall at weapon point. It wasn't an overly large craft. The cargo hold they walked into was as stark as everything else she'd seen thus far. Three men stood with their own rifles up and the smell of burnt flesh hit her. Another figure in armor laid prone on the deck off to one side while yet another was pacing back and forth, clutching his arm to his chest and moaning.

Zihrait was sprawled on the floor, his wrists, ankles, and neck restrained by thick mag locks. He was still unconscious, his mandibles lax and eyes closed, but she couldn't see evidence of whatever they'd used on him. He didn't look injured. Just out cold.

Riot was anything but. They'd also applied the mag locks to his wrists and ankles, though the collar which had been intended for his neck lay a few feet away on the deck, and this seemed to be the problem. He was straining against the fetters and blood tinged his tusks and inner fangs - both his own and that of at least one of his subduers.

The rifle jabbed her between the shoulder blades. "Either you get that fucking collar on him or-"

"I get it." Pheist approached, noting the splint had been broken and all but torn from Riot's leg. His thrashing was likely only doing the limb more harm. "Hey - woah. You need to stop. Calm down. You're not helping anything." She considered using the hand symbols to communicate with him, but perhaps that was an ability best kept to herself for now. Instead she relied upon her voice and body language, which he normally read quite well.

His chest was heaving. His golden eyes slid from her to the others - calculating and livid at the same time. The growling subsided the closer she got until she knelt beside him. There were plasma burns on his left side, the cauterized wound oozing traces of luminescent green blood which stood out sharply against his dark hide. She knew from experience it hurt like a bitch. On top of that, the bandaging over the bite he'd received to his shoulder was soaked through.

"Easy," she soothed him. Even if he could somehow be freed, she didn't know he was in any condition to take on four armed opponents - possibly five depending upon the extent of the other guy's injury. If Zihrait were to wake up… A quick glance in that direction revealed the other Yautja's deep, even breathing.

"Put it on him!"

They were antsy. Why they hadn't killed the two Hunters, she didn't understand. But all of this had obviously been planned. Somehow, they'd known where to find her and the others, and they'd come prepared to incapacitate the aliens.

Riot was watching them, his mandibles yet spread in a display of aggression, but he'd stilled his struggling. When she took up the collar he rumbled derisively.

"I know… it's alright." She willed him to trust her, to just give her some time to figure this all out. To come up with a means by which to free them. But Zihrait had to be awake.

The unease which she read in his gaze was hard to swallow, but he allowed her to close the collar around his neck. It hauled his head back as it snapped to the deck, exposing his bandaged throat and rendering him completely vulnerable. He snarled, but there was now an edge of anguish to the vocalization.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Riot," she mumbled, fingers itching to disentangle his dreads from the collar. It would be best if they didn't realize the extent of her attachment. She stood up, turning away, hating that she had to leave him like this. "What are you going to do with them?"

"It's what we're going to do with you that you should be worried about," another of the men, not the one who'd walked in with her, answered. "They're bought and paid for. You're not part of the transaction."

Not UAA then. "So what do a couple of Yautja go for? Is it worth your lives?" She motioned towards the unmoving form.

"The aliens didn't kill him, bitch - you did." He sneered. "Which is why you should be worried."

"Should thank you, though," yet another said. "That ident chip in your metal arm's what led us straight to you. Maybe we'll keep it as a souvenir."

Her arm. She hadn't even been aware there _was_ an ident chip in the cybernetic limb. That information would have been in her medical file. Which meant, even if these jackasses weren't UAA, someone who was, was responsible for giving them that information. "You know what make real souvenirs? Skulls. Too bad none of yours would be worth the effort of peeling your flesh off them."

Riot's growl and the rattling of the mag locks as he surged against them caused the guy who'd begun to stalk towards her to halt mid-stride, his rifle swinging from her to the restrained Yautja.

"Get her out of here."

Despite the statement, no one seemed to want to get too close. She didn't look back at Riot, just flicked her hand down by her side, one sign. _Wait._ Then she crossed the cargo hold and was shoved back down the hallway.

* * *

It might have been a couple of hours, it might have been six or seven or more.

She couldn't hear Jaele any longer. She hadn't been returned to the same cabin, but she'd heard it well enough. What they'd done to the other woman, taking their frustrations out on her. It'd stopped finally. The noises. The ringing in her ears hadn't drowned out _that_ , of course.

Moving hurt, but she forced herself to get up and walk back and forth the few paces available to her in the confined space. To keep her abused muscles from stiffening too badly. One of her eyes was swollen so far shut she could barely see out of it by now. She licked her parched lips and the copper tang of blood filled her mouth again, dried there from her nose.

If she hadn't fought back, hadn't given them hell, would they have left Jaele alone? Her practical mind was adamant that wouldn't have been the case, but her conscience… it wasn't as sure. Bile at the thought of just allowing them to rape her rose in her throat, but by saving herself from that fate she'd made it worse for the other woman. Her only consolation came from the knowledge she'd broken at least one arm, having heard the bone snap when she'd forced it to bend in the wrong direction using her cybernetic hand. The only part of her which wasn't sore now.

She pictured Jaele; so small, so delicate. She hadn't screamed at first. But by the end, her voice had been hoarse and failing. It all blurred together for Pheist. Maybe she'd blacked out again. She didn't know.

Lola was dead. Had they left her back in the cavern, alone? Carrion for the first scavenger to venture inside and discover?

Something changed in the vibration humming through the ship. It didn't feel like the turbulence of breaking atmosphere - they were docking, then. Footsteps passed by her door.

"You need me!" she shouted, banging against it in alarm. "You need me to keep them calm!" She couldn't allow them to deliver Riot and Zihrait to whoever it was who'd paid for their capture and keep her here. If they were parted, she didn't know how she'd find the Yautja again, or if she could.

Riot's growls kicked up again in response to her yelling and her heart clenched.

That's right. Make a fuss, big guy. Show them they need to take me with you.

The door opened and she had the satisfaction of being faced with an eye which was likely as purple as her own. "Don't fucking tempt me," was her warning.

She walked out of the cabin and hesitated. "My friend-"

"She won't be coming." The smirk which curled his lips was punchworthy. "Probably couldn't walk even if she was."

Pheist locked her jaw. Her hands fisted but she kept them by her sides. She would come back for Jaele. There'd be no way to convince them to send her along right now. And when she did return, with Riot and Zihrait, she'd make sure they suffered


	28. 28

"Astridhe Pheist."

If the muffled words had been anything less familiar than her name, her sluggish brain wouldn't have put two and two together. Convincing her eyes to open took forever. Or did it? Maybe she was still asleep. Was she asleep? Had she been sleeping? Everything felt wrong. Disjointed.

"I'm not surprised you may be experiencing some difficulty. Your presence wasn't anticipated and the weapon used on you was designed to subdue an adult Yautja, not a human. One can only assume the fact the round penetrated a cybernetic limb is what caused you to survive."

The voice - male - sounded like it was coming from above. That, combined with the cool gray surface her face seemed to be pressed to, made her realize she was on the floor. She attempted to get up, but quickly came to the conclusion she would need to work herself up to that - maybe start with something simpler, like swallowing.

What was this guy prattling on about? A weapon?

The scene in the cargo hold came back to her in bits and pieces. Riot and a very awake and alert Zihrait thrashing against their restraints, the absolute thunderous echoes of their growls, and a dozen - no, more than a dozen - armed and armored figures surrounding them. They'd been orderly and proficient - well trained, not UAA. The weapons they'd carried had been unlike anything she'd seen before.

"I'm told those mercenaries claimed you held some sway over the two specimens they retrieved."

This sort of terminology didn't make her insides warm - specimens? She forced some kind of noise past her vocal chords - an affirmation. She still couldn't see anything but the floor and focused on rolling her head to one side or the other to at least get a visual on wherever it was she'd been taken.

"They also claimed the melanistic male was injured when they located you. His condition, unfortunately, leaves much to be desired - but preliminary DNA sequencing has been of interest. Interspecies breeding, while possible, is considered highly unusual behaviour for Yautja. There is evidently a dated device with some informative data, though I've yet to view it."

How long had she been out? They already knew about Riot being a hybrid and had Lola's PC. What was this place?

"Assuming you recover, you may prove of some further use. It's my understanding the UAA isn't interested in your return."

No real shock, that. Her head lolled to one side in time to catch sight of the blurry form before it disappeared through a door and left her alone in the small room. It took a further ten minutes for her to regain clumsy use of her body. Her cybernetic arm's movements were jerky and uncoordinated, the hand fisted and refusing to open. She maneuvered herself into a sitting position and took some time to gather herself. Locating the puncture in the arm, she wrinkled her nose at the sticky white fluid leaking from the synthetic skin. The bullet or whatever it had been had already been dug out and she couldn't tell if the damage was lasting or if the arm would function again as it should.

The room was square with bare gray walls and empty save for herself. The integrated lighting was low and the temperature humid - it felt similar to that of the Yautja cruiser, in fact. When she felt able, she struggled up to her feet and found the wall she used for support to be covered in some kind of gel layer which softened it. A basin built into the corner held lukewarm water. She sniffed it experimentally but ultimately decided if they'd wanted her dead, she would be - poisoning the water held no purpose. She drank until her roiling stomach was somewhat full, finding that the basin replenished itself and must be tied into some type of automated system. Obviously the room had been designed as a holding cell - with Yautja in mind, it seemed. She wondered if Riot and Zihrait were close by and similarly housed. Even when she pressed her ear to the door, she could hear nothing from outside.

It was as she was completing her third circuit of the space, working the numbness from her body, that the lights went out. She felt her way back to the door and listened again with the same result. Nothing. With a sigh, she slid down to the floor to wait.

It seemed a transaction had taken place between whoever these new people were and the ones who'd captured her, Jaele, Riot, and Zihrait. And the UAA had been part of it, giving over her medical file or at least the portion relating to her injury and subsequent refitting with the cybernetic arm. How they'd known she was living amongst the Yautja on the cruiser and hadn't been killed, she wasn't sure. Had the UAA been tracking her this entire time? Had the mercenaries? Waiting for an opportunity? What did these people want with Riot and Zihrait? The careful design of the room, the way this new guy had referred to the Hunters as specimens and had seemed knowledgeable about their breeding habits, and the fact they had so promptly studied Riot's DNA made her uneasy - it suggested this wasn't the first time they'd brought in Yautja. But for what purpose? Why were they studying the other species? What were they doing with them?

* * *

They used her.

Sometimes once in a while, sometimes one after another. Jaele fought them - always, she fought at the start, but by the end no matter how much she struggled she accomplished nothing. New bruises. New cuts.

The one she'd bitten, he'd produced a knife and sliced a fistful of braids from her head, ruthlessly tearing her scalp in the process. It'd bled. It'd bled a lot. It still bled if they banged her head against the bunk or the wall - which they did, when she fought them.

She didn't scream anymore. There was no point, there was no one to hear her now. Pheist, Riot, and Zihrait were gone. She was alone. But she mustered the energy to fight them each and every time the door slid open and one of them entered the small and increasingly slovenly cabin, even if it was to allow her to use the lav to relieve herself or to scrub her skin raw in the cramped shower unit. They threatened _not_ to provide her use of the lav if she continued to bite and scratch and kick, but they were the ones who wanted her clean so she didn't heed the warnings.

They used her and when they left her alone, she curled up in the corner on the floor and willed herself to sleep. Sleeping was the only thing she could do to alleviate the pain and the fear. Sometimes when she slept she dreamt of the tepid pool in the oasis, sometimes of the cavern and the mural she'd spent hour upon hour painting, and sometimes she dreamt of home - her tidy studio apartment with the terrible view. More often than not, she dreamt of nothing.

Once, she dreamt she'd had the courage to use the belt which secured her robe to strangle herself. It'd been so vivid she had woken choking for air, the memory of the cord digging into her throat so real it'd taken her a moment to realize it was only her own hair resting against her neck. But she wasn't that courageous. She was frightened. And weak.

When the familiar noise of footsteps in the hall reached her, she didn't know whether she'd been asleep or not. She scrambled up from the floor and pressed herself back into the wall to still her quivering muscles, eyes locked onto the door. It slid open and the one who'd severed the handful of braids slunk inside. She hated him most. The others banged her around if she was too unruly, but they never spit on her or shoved her face into the floor so hard she thought her nose would break and she would suffocate. They didn't wrap their hands around her throat and squeeze until she passed out. Only he did that.

When she finally did die, it would be his doing. Jaele knew it was just a matter of time. But she sucked in an unsteady breath and prepared to fight him tooth and nail just the same.

"If you just let it happen and behaved yourself, we might be able to let you out of here, you know," he drawled, already loosening the fastening on his pants. They no longer wore their armor now that the Yautja were gone. They didn't need it to deal with her. They could all overpower her easily enough.

The door closed behind him.

She didn't speak. She never did. Just waited. When he lunged in, she was ready. There was no point trying to evade him - they always caught her. There was nowhere to go in the cabin. He reached for her hair - he always did. She let him. Grasped his wrist as she felt his fingers close around her braids and sank her teeth into his forearm. Blood filled her mouth, but this time she didn't recoil in alarm and disgust. This time, she bit harder, felt the muscle and tendons as she ground her jaw back and forth and heard his strangled yelp of agony. He struck her, a solid punch to the shoulder, but she refused to release him. Hot fluid dribbled down her chin and neck. His next blow caught her in the face and the shock of it unclamped her jaw. She fell back against the wall and threw her arms up to protect herself, but a wailing noise caught her off guard.

The ship jolted sharply, sending her sprawling onto the deck. Something was happening.

A booted foot connected with her back, the jarring impact knocking the air from her lungs and bringing tears to her eyes.

The door rattled as reverberations coursed through the deck beneath her. There was shouting outside.

Blood spattered onto her cheek as she worked to draw in breath - he stepped over her, gripping his injured arm to staunch the flow. He was muttering. Before he could so much as reach for the panel, a wrenching noise proceeded the grind of the door being forced open.

Jaele barely had time to roll out of his way as he shuffled back and ripped his knife - the one he'd used on her - from the strap holding it to his thigh.

Talons appeared around the edge of the door. The gap widened, the metal groaning in protest of being manually shoved back into its recess. A cacophony of other noise permeated the cabin; screams, weapons fire, thuds and crashes. The taloned hand slid further around the edge of the door and with one final thrust of squealing metal, jammed it fully open.

The Yautja who filled the doorway wore a mask and the glowing red eyes first seemed to assess the room's knife-wielding occupant before shifting to where Jaele laid crumpled on the floor. She stared back, too dumbstruck to move as her tormentor took the opportunity presented to him by his opponent's apparent distraction to cock back his arm and hurl the knife. The warning which formed in her throat died as the Hunter's hand shot up, snatching the blade from the air and in the same fluid movement, flinging it back where it caught its owner square between the eyes. He collapsed in a boneless heap which narrowly missed crushing her.

Time seemed to come to a standstill. She was helpless to do anything but lay there and watch, paralyzed by emotions she couldn't name as the alien stepped inside.

It wasn't Zihrait. Not only was the armor he wore different to what Zihrait had been attired in when he'd taken her, but his hide was much darker. He crouched beside the body and the array of beads affixed to his dreads clicked together, making her realize how silent everything had fallen.

No more screams or shouts. No weapons.

Just silence.

Just her own shallows breaths as she gazed up while the Yautja lifted the arm of the man he'd killed so effortlessly and seemed to take in the wound she'd inflicted. The illuminated scarlet eyes fell onto her again and a low rumble was issued.

This was not Zihrait.

Dropping the bloodied arm, the taloned hand reached for her. It caught up a few of her braids and drew them in for inspection, yanking her head up from the deck in the process. She didn't dare whimper. Didn't utter a sound as her hair was rolled between the lethally clawed fingers. Slow clicking followed.

Pheist had told her that meant they were thinking, considering. She swallowed and carefully made the sign for gratitude.

The clicking stopped. The Hunter rose to his full height once more. After several long moments, he chuffed.

Jaele forced her trembling limbs to obey her and pushed herself up from the deck. The dead eyes of her abuser remained open, slightly rolled back in his head. Impulsively, she grabbed the handle of the knife and dragged it free of his skull, feeling the scrape of bone over the blade as it emerged gorey and dripping. The same knife he'd cut off her hair with. She slowly got up and spat in his lifeless face before looking to the towering alien once more.

He didn't snarl at her. He didn't take the knife from her. He simply turned and stalked out of the cabin.

She followed.


	29. 29

Where the big male went, other Yautja cleared a path.

Jaele trailed in his wake, gripping the knife close as she was jostled and snarled at - as fangs were bared and mandibles flared and eyes of every shade of bronze, beryl, and carmine glowered down upon her. She'd walked straight off the ship, following the Hunter into a large bay, and she hadn't stopped following him since. Down corridors, up a lift, and into the heart of what she now understood to be a vessel of the kind Pheist had described residing on with Riot for the past number of weeks. The further she'd followed, the more populated the dimly lit halls had become, and there'd been no choice but to keep going.

She was alone. She had no idea where the others had been taken or what had brought these Yautja to the ship she'd been held captive on. But she had to assume the two things were linked - that this was Zihrait's clan, that they'd come searching for him and Riot. Pheist had explained a power struggle had been the cause of Riot's injuries as well as what had led to him, her, Lola and Zihrait fleeing. She'd said she didn't know whether the two Yautja were now exiled or not. Had the big male come in search of them to punish them, if that was the case? She understood so very little of Yautja culture, Pheist had been teaching her what she knew, but in between training and tending to Riot and everything else, Jaele simply hadn't learned much. Pheist had claimed Lola to be the expert, but the older woman had always seemed weary and abrasive.

Now she was dead.

Squeezing past more of the menacing aliens, she hurried after her saviour. He hadn't looked back even once, and yet she was under no illusions that he was aware she was behind him. His stride was confident and ground covering, his aura predatory and dangerous. The others did not look him in the eye, instead keeping their gazes averted as they allowed him to pass unimpeded. She was forced to trot along to keep a safe enough distance that she didn't fear losing him.

They approached a set of heavy doors outside which two armored Hunters were posted. The doors parted to permit the male through and she rushed ahead, only to be swatted aside by one of the guards. Her shoulder took the brunt of the collision with the wall and the knife clattered to the deck plating.

The male had already disappeared within.

Shaking, Jaele stooped to retrieve the blade, but a clawed foot descended upon the handle before her fingers could reach it. She stared at that foot, knowing its owner loomed above her and could all too easily kill her. Ever so slowly, she straightened up and made to step back.

The guard ensnared her, his talons snatching ahold of the front of her robe in a move which jerked her forward, snapping her head back.

From beyond the open doors a single guttural chuff sounded.

With a low growl, the guard released her as abruptly as he'd grabbed her, and she stumbled but left the knife where it had fallen as she scampered through the doors. The defining feature of the room the male had entered was the floor to ceiling viewscreen which stretched across the entirety of its length from one side to the other, revealing the vast vista of endless black interspersed by distant specks of light outside. Several Yautja stood or sat behind consoles with glowing red symbols of the same variety she recalled from Zihrait's ship. This had to be the bridge.

Standing at the centre of it all, the large male was studying what appeared to be a projected map. Astronomy was not Jaele's strong suit, but she recognized plotted stars, meteor fields, and planets. Some of the bridge's other occupants spared her glances, though none offered to make any noise as she approached the holographic map with measured movements. She could tell which orbs represented planets, but the foreign symbols labelling them did nothing to tell her what planets they were, if she'd even heard of them before. She had no way of knowing how far Zihrait had taken her from the asteroid where the detention facility was located.

After watching him contemplate the map in silence for a few moments, she carefully lifted her hands and signed. _You find others. Other Hunters. You search._ She tilted her head in the manner Pheist had indicated would convey she was posing a question.

The male's mask turned towards her, the penetrating stare of the slitted red eyes causing her heart rate to double instantaneously.

Before he could respond, if that was even his intention, another Yautja strode through the doors with something clutched by his side. She realized it was Lola's duffle as he halted a few paces from the male and presented it, crimson blood coating the arm he extended. By contrast, she noticed the large male remained impeccably free of gore, though she knew him to have killed at least one of the men on that ship. After giving the bag only a cursory look, his attention returned to the map, and the other Hunter departed.

She was working up the nerve to repeat her clumsy attempt at communication when he lifted his taloned hands and removed his mask, the gleaming metal coming away with a hiss of depressurizing air. The eyes which locked onto her own were gilt and frigid. They raked over her with cold apathy, assessing without the slightest implication of interest. She knew, in that moment, slaughtering her as opposed to saving her would have made little difference to him. The quills protruding from the raised line of his jaws and brow, along with his elongated tusks, lent the impression of age and experience. One of the tusks looked to have been broken off at some point and was now pierced through with a silver ring. Those things, coupled with the fact he seemed to tower taller above her than Zihrait, made her feel confident in assuming he was older. He was obviously in a, if not _the_ , role of authority within the clan.

It wasn't until his focus returned to the map that she was able to coax air into her lungs again. The gravelly rumble he emitted made her hair stand on end and seemed to beckon forth one of the guards, who seized her by the elbow before she could even think to react. She was hauled from the bridge and down the hall, back into a lift, down some levels and then through more corridors, all the while convinced her arm would be ripped from its socket. Fighting would have been futile.

Another set of doors slid open and the guard flung her through without warning. She wound up on her hands and knees and was grateful not to have fallen flat on her face. By the time she looked over her shoulder, the doors had sealed and the guard was gone.

The red glow of the heated lights cast strange shadows around the expansive dome shaped room. Jaele got to her feet, the newest abrasions to her knees stinging in protest, and tried to decide where she might have been taken. There seemed to be small alcoves along the perimeter of the space where darkness reigned.

From the shadows, a quiet hissing began. First one, then two, then more Yautja appeared. They were slighter than any of the others she'd seen, much smaller than Zihrait while still being larger than her. They wore robes of the same style as her own with no beads decorating their dreads and they were hissing at her, their spindly mandibles spread.

'Aseigan. Servants.

* * *

They fed her. Pheist supposed she ought to be thankful for that since the mercenaries hadn't, but the ration bars they tossed into the room what she assumed to be twice daily were bland and gritty - then again, could ration bars be otherwise?

The lights came on and the lights went out, dictating when she woke and when she slept. Other than that, she lost all sense of time. The questions she blurted at the slit in the door when her breakfast and supper were delivered were never answered. She spent what she felt was hours massaging her cybernetic arm, trying to coax movement back into the fisted hand. It sort of worked, the fingers unclenched now, but they also spasmed back together without her input at times.

It was three light and dark cycles later before anyone bothered to acknowledge her existence again. The door opened, all the way rather than a few inches, and the same man from before stood framed in it. There was something… off about him. She'd figured perhaps it'd only seemed that way before because she'd still been coming around, her brain scrambled, but there was definitely something not quite right about him. He looked… _too_ perfect. His hair, his skin, his clothes. Everything was immaculate. Eerily so, she decided while studying him studying her.

"You're not going to be so foolish as to attempt anything, are you, Ms. Pheist?" he finally queried, sounding bored.

" _Ms._ Pheist, is it now?" The irony.

"Do you prefer Astridhe?"

"I prefer not to be locked in a padded room, if you're taking requests." The last person to call her by her given name had died years ago, and she wasn't all that torn up over the fact.

"Are you going to obediently accompany me or not?"

A few choice retorts sprang to mind, but on the chance he did possess patience and they were wearing thin, she limited herself to a simple nod. She needed to figure out where Riot and Zihrait were and what it was they were specimens for.

"Very well. This way." A hand directed her to proceed into the hall, which contained many closed doors with designating numbers labelling them.

"What is it you do here?"

"Research and development," came the vague response as she was led along the rows of doors.

Was Riot behind one of them? Was he alright? Between the still healing wounds the tattooed Yautja had inflicted and the plasma burns, he'd been in rough shape the last time she'd seen him. "Where are the Hunters I was brought here with?"

"Patience, Astridhe. That's where I'm taking you." His toneless voice was infuriating, but she carried on, knowing she needed to wait until he'd shown her where Riot and Zihrait were before she contemplated slugging him.

They crossed through an intersection with yet more numbered doors, then paused before a larger security door which he was obliged to complete a retinal scan to unlock. The space it opened onto was lit by the same red glow as the Yautja cruiser. Here there were also doors, with the distinction that these appeared much more reinforced, and an armored guard was posted outside each. She followed him past a few, and again he allowed an eye scan from the integrated unit by the door to verify his clearance level before it would open. Inside, a clear barrier stretched the ten or so feet from wall to wall, and provided a view of the cell within.

The dark hide of the form slumped in the far corner was unmistakable.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded, alarm prickling her nerves when Riot failed to react to their intrusion. He wasn't moving at all, that she could tell.

"Repair his leg, among other things. The operation was extensive. He's still under the effects of the drugs which were administered to prevent him from inadvertently damaging the site." He approached the barrier, tapped something into the control column, and a door which hadn't at first been visible retracted.

Pheist required no prompting to go in. She went directly to Riot, surprised to find that his eyes were open, but just barely. They looked dull. "Anyone home in there?" she murmured to him as she crouched down, quickly assessing the blue gel smeared over the injuries to his neck and shoulder, as well as the burns to his side. His knee was bandaged lightly, but already she could tell much of the swelling was gone.

The low and rattling grumble which left him sounded as though it took effort, but when her gaze returned to his, she found his eyes had opened further and seemed somewhat more alert.

"You're flying high, huh?"

He managed to turn his head and stretch his mandibles before they crookedly settled together again.

Checking over her shoulder, she found her escort had remained outside the barrier. "What is it you want with them?"

"With them? Nothing," he answered matter-of-factly. "From them? Everything."


	30. 30

**Just as quick note to say the next update likely won't be for a couple weeks. Apologies in advance.**

* * *

She was allowed to remain with Riot - why, she had no idea.

It was taking a long time for him to come around, so long she worried. He seemed almost asleep with his eyes half-lidded and made strange gurgling snarls, either dreaming or hallucinating. He never did that normally - he didn't so much as twitch in his sleep and the slightest of her movements brought him full awake. Not so with whatever drugs they'd administered. His hide felt cool and his reaction to her attempts to rouse him more fully was sluggish and disoriented.

"Come on, Riot - you need to shake it off," she insisted as his talons blindly cut through the air well to her left, trying to ward off her determined tugs and prods. There was no way she'd actually be able to budge his dead weight, but she figured if she could get him up and moving it would help cycle the drugs out of his system faster. That was her theory, anyway. She was no medic.

His answering rumble was lethargic.

With a sigh, she scooted in closer and tucked herself against his side, resigning herself to waiting a little more and trying again.

It was at least an hour later when she realized he'd stilled and hadn't made any noise for a while. She lifted her head from where it rested against his bicep.

His eyes were the same, but as the seconds ticked past she waited for his chest to expand, and it didn't.

She shook him abruptly. "Riot!" When this elicited no response, she shoved her palms against his pectoral, searching for his heartbeats. "Riot!" Her own pulse proved too frantic for her to be able to tell whether his hearts had stopped or not, throbbing through her veins as her fear intensified. She leapt up and grabbed his arm, hauling him away from the wall, straining to get him on his back on the floor. She had no doubt it was adrenaline which allowed her to manhandle him even that far, but didn't spare a thought for it. "Wake up! Riot!" She pounded her fists against his sternum, knowing there was no way she possessed the strength to perform proper compressions. "Wake up! You have to wake up!"

Was this a bad reaction to the drugs?

"Help!" she shrieked. They had to be being monitored, she didn't believe otherwise. "Help him! Do something!"

His mandibles had fallen slack and even when she stepped on his dreads accidentally in her panic, he failed to recoil.

"Riot! Riot!"

The outer door opened and the same guy as before entered, this time carrying a hard shelled case by his side.

"Hurry!" she urged him as he walked to the column and proceeded to access the door in the clear barrier.

"You will move to the other side of the enclosure."

Pheist curbed her desire to argue and shuffled back. As much as she wanted to be by Riot's side, she wanted him to live more. She backed up until her foot bumped the opposite wall and clutched her robe.

Calmly approaching Riot's prone form, he set the case down and flipped it open.

That was when it happened. Almost quicker than her eyes could follow, Riot's hand shot up and seized the guy by the throat, pulling him off balance. The case skittered across the floor as his foot struck it. Riot sat up, unnaturally silent. When the guy gripped his wrist, trying to free himself, Riot caught one hand and with a swift yank, tore the whole arm from his torso.

There was no blood. He didn't even scream.

Riot flung the limb aside, his tusks ticking together as his captive continued to struggle.

"There is no purpose to this, you won't get past the outer door." The composure with which he continued to speak made Pheist realize what it was that had been so off about him - he wasn't human, he was a synth.

She was just moving towards the opening in the barrier when Riot went rigid, every muscle and tendon in his body standing out sharply, after which he collapsed on top of the synth. Changing course, she rushed to him.

The synth was squirming and with his one remaining arm began to push Riot off. Even if he wasn't a model built for combat, he would easily be strong enough to lift the Yautja.

Pheist nailed him in the head with her heel. The chances she could do any real damage without a weapon were slim, but she'd still try. "What did you do to him?"

"Subdue him. You would be wise to desist before you are harmed, Astridhe," he answered her while starting to roll Riot off.

Talons scraped across the floor and Riot released a strangled growl, then threw himself back down onto the synth. His fangs found its neck and sank in. He whipped his head back and forth, ripping free a mouthful of synthetic flesh as well as the metal components it covered.

Its hand came up to block another such savage bite and Pheist grabbed on, pulling back, putting her weight into holding the arm at bay long enough for Riot's teeth to close around its throat again. This time when he shook his head, the arm she was fighting against went limp and she stumbled onto her ass.

Riot spit the unsavoury contents from his mouth and got his hands beneath him, shoving himself up from the floor.

"You won't escape," the synth informed them.

With a snarl, Riot swatted the head clean off the body, sending it bouncing into the wall with a thud. He tried to get up, but staggered, unable to manage it. He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

"If you force me to use a second pulse on him, it may do lasting internal damage."

Scrambling up, she snatched the head from the floor and slammed it into the wall. She did this again and again until she heard the inner workings crunch. Milky white fluid dripped through her fingers. She flipped it around to inspect. The eyes still stared at her, though a flap of flesh hung down from the forehead and shards of metal stuck out.

It didn't speak.

She dropped it and went back to Riot. "Get up, big guy, we don't have much time." She wanted to be angry at him for deceiving her and playing dead, but it'd worked. There were more people in the hall outside to contend with, however. She'd counted at least six, all armed and armored.

While he worked on getting his feet under him, she fetched the medkit and rummaged through it, pulling out two injectors. She had no idea what they contained, but if the dose had been calibrated for a Yautja, it might prove debilitating for a human at the least. In the absence of any other weapon, she'd take it. Recalling the retinal scan required to open the outer door, she also retrieved the synth head again.

Riot was up, but still panting when she turned to the opening in the barrier. He followed her, a decided hitch in his step, but he was walking.

"First things first, let me look you over." She circled around him, searching for any incision site which might indicate where the device which had delivered the subduing pulse had been implanted. She didn't know how long it would be before they sent someone else in, but the cell was monitored obviously.

He stooped for the inspection and she found what she was looking for between his shoulder blades, the small cut held together by a single staple.

"Hold still." Getting her fingernails beneath the clip, she tugged it out. Next she dug into the wound, feeling around.

He grumbled, but didn't pull away. Warm green blood leaked from the area as she searched for the device.

The door started to open.

Riot tensed to attack.

"Wait!" Her fingertip had just grazed it. She forced her digits in further and got ahold of the small disc just as he surged forward, ripping the device clean out.

He collided with the figure in the doorway and the weapon went off, embedding something into the wall.

Pheist dropped the disc as a second figure came into view. Hurling the synth head was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing another rifle levelled onto Riot while he grappled with the first figure. She wasn't quick enough, however. It struck its target, but not before the weapon went off and Riot pitched to the ground. He'd shredded the armor from the left side of his opponent and the arm was dangling uselessly, but no sounds of pain were issued.

That was when she realized they were all synth.

* * *

The water burned Jaele's hands, reddening her skin and setting her nerve endings on fire. For the first time since she'd turned to mixing inks by combining dust from the gray-blue sand, crushed berries, and other colour dense sources to cure her boredom by painting, her fingers were unstained. The additives which cleaned the garments she was forced to scrub not only lifted the dye from her nail beds and knuckles, it also sloughed off dead tissue and stung. When she collapsed into her cubby at the end of the day, her skin was raw and cracked and her muscles ached in a way they never had before, not even after hours upon hours of painting or carving.

Laundry, she presumed, was one of the lowliest chores an 'aseigan could be assigned. Those who worked beside her usually only did so for a day or two before she never saw them again. Their colouring and markings made them fairly distinguishable, even if they all wore the same style robe. None would communicate with her. When she'd attempted at first, it'd only increased their hissing responses and one had gone so far as to strike her.

Zihrait had never hit her.

She no longer tried to use the hand signs to speak to them.

When the red lights came on to signal the start of the day, she crawled from her recess to the sounds of the others rising and stretching. She had no pelts to soften the floor where she slept, such luxuries were jealously guarded. She'd already witnessed two scraps over aged furs which were riddled with holes and practically disintegrating in the talons which had fought over them.

Food was no different. The 'aseigan were given small portions and she'd learnt quickly to shove as much as possible into her mouth before her bowl was inevitably snatched away the moment the female Yautja who oversaw them turned her back. She was larger than the 'aseigan, but not as big as Zihrait and nowhere near the size of most of the females in the nursing and whelping den where they collected soiled linens. The first time she'd followed her work party there, Jaele had been stunned when the doors had opened to reveal the space. It was domed, much like the quarters she and the 'aseigan were kept in, and individual sleeping cubbies lined the perimeter. There, the similarities ended, however. Where the domed room the 'aseigan slept in was bare and hostile, everyone keeping to themselves, the den's curved walls were decorated by mosaic tapestries and long braided cords with beads acted as curtains across the sleeping cubbies. Younglings tussled and played, their boisterous snarls and yowls an assault on the senses. Mothers watched on in small groups on piles of pelts, some of them suckling small pups, others dozing. They paid no attention to the 'aseigan who skirted about taking up the baskets where dirty laundry had been tossed unless one got too close or if a youngling toppled into their legs.

On one such occasion, Jaele had watched on in terror as a female had delivered a slash with her talons which had severed a few dreads from the head of the unfortunate 'aseigan who'd tripped over her offspring, sending the trembling servant to her knees. After that, Jaele was careful to keep her distance from both the mothers and young, no matter how drawn her eyes were to the small Yautja and their loud antics.

The cruiser seemed to be sectioned off to separate the two genders for the most part. Males were never present in the areas Jaele laboured and the 'aseigan who collected the laundry from the den were strictly female.

She despaired of ever seeing Zihrait, Pheist, or Riot again. Even if the big male did locate them, would he help them or were his motives fueled by the need to punish them for fleeing?

Lying on the hard floor of her cubby in the dark, she tried to think of a way to change her circumstances. Pheist had stressed that she couldn't allow herself to be seen or treated as 'aseigan by Zihrait, and that was exactly what she'd been relegated to here. But was that because, as with Zihrait, she hadn't shown them that she had any other value? She recalled the way his crimson eyes had lit with interest when she'd carved the javelin, how he'd remained by her side late into the night afterwards and watched her notch intricate designs in one of the sticks. It'd been the most amount of time he'd spent in her presence without becoming frustrated with her or agitated.

And then, out of nowhere, he'd collapsed atop her, pinning her in the sand. His body had been incredibly heavy and stiff and the suddenness of it had caused her to scream.

They'd shot him with something, she understood that now. And then…

They were all dead. She reminded herself they were all dead. Gone.

The ship. The ship would have records of where it had been, where it had docked. She could access those records. She could show the big male exactly where they'd taken Zihrait, Pheist, and Riot.


End file.
